


Glory and Gore

by great_turkey_calamity



Series: RWRB Hunger Games AU [1]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alex is Katniss, Alex is rough with a soft side, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Complete, Descriptions of food and alcohol, Fake to real lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting to assert dominance, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Henry is peeta, Henry is simply Trying To Survive, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Raf is haymitch, Shithead Alex, TW: Emetophobia, They’re from different districts, Trans Alex Claremont-Diaz, Violence, Wilderness Survival, description of death, description of injury, emotional angst, emotional overstimulation, ish, nonbinary Pez, pez is cinna and nora is effie, yall get the gist of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_turkey_calamity/pseuds/great_turkey_calamity
Summary: Alex had been aware of the possibilities. He’d been the one to tell everyone, after all.That didn’t stop his world from spinning when his name was called at the reaping.The Hunger Games AU nobody asked for.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Series: RWRB Hunger Games AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198772
Comments: 200
Kudos: 90





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve literally been obsessed with THG for the better part of a decade and I knew I had to do this lol, here y’all go.

When Alex wakes up, it’s hot. This shouldn’t shock him, especially not in the dead of summer, but it’s certainly enough to make watching the sun rise an absolutely miserable affair. He pulls the blanket off of him, and finds that the clothes he slept in are saturated with sweat. Remembering just how warm it was last night voids all possible reasons for alarm in his mind.

As he rises up and makes his way through the house, he finds that his mother is asleep, Leo is in the kitchen, and June is nowhere to be found. This isn’t surprising; it’s early, and June takes on the brunt of the chores. He decides that starting off in the kitchen is his best bet, and makes his way over to the sink to wash his hands. The water pressure is shit, but the cool water soothes the cuts and callouses on his hands, so he can’t be bothered to bitch about it.

“Good morning,” Leo greets, messing with some food assortment on the counter. Alex can smell fresh bread, and it makes his stomach ache with want. He saw a glimpse of a few more items, but they were mostly kept out of view. 

“Mornin’,” He replies, flinging his hands in the sink in an attempt to dry them without soaking Leo. “Know where June is?”

“She’s out there peddlin’ those blackberries to anyone who’ll listen to her for more than five seconds,” Leo chuckles. “Trying to get wax for the floor and a few new rags to clean with.”

Alex hums. June comes home empty-handed about fifty percent of the time, but when she strikes lucky, she almost always strikes big. “I’m gonna go check my traps before I get ready.” He tells Leo. He’s not exactly sure why he’s telling him— Leo prefers to stay out of ‘ _risky business_ ’.   
  


“Not before you eat, you’re not.” Leo says, firm.

Alex sighs. “Got enough for Liam?”

“We _always_ have enough for Liam.”

“Good.”

Alex sits down to a meal of coarse bread, tart, small grapes, and a cup of goat’s milk. The bread could have used some lard, and the grapes could have stayed on the vine a while longer, but he’s certainly not complaining. He’s had worse— he’s gone hungry for days on end. He would certainly call this a satisfactory meal.

“Who gave y’all the grapes?” He asks. Grapes are an unusual fruit to just have in Twelve. Someone had to venture past the electric fence to get them.

“Liam brought ‘em by.” Leo replies.

Alex sets down the chunk of bread in his hand. “What’d I tell y’all about taking his food?”

“I gave him enough of that pot of soup you brought home for him and both his parents,” Leo sighs. “Grapes weren’t worth the trade, but the boy’s scrawny, and his mother’s damn near gaunt.”

The kitchen goes quiet, and Alex tries his best to calm down. 

“You’re testy,” Leo notes.

“Yeah, and I’ve got a damn good reason to be,” Alex spits in response, ripping a mouthful of bread off his portion and chewing in a way that oozes aggravation.

“It’s your last year next year, they’re not gonna pick you when you’ve made it this far.”

Alex lets out an inappropriate chuckle. “If it’s not me, then it’s gonna be Liam.”

“It won’t be either of you, it’ll be that old miner’s oldest boy. He’s gettin’ enough tesserae to feed six people.”

“Bless his heart,” Alex sighs. 

The room goes quiet again. Everyone hates July fourth, but things feel especially high-stakes this year. Alex has to force himself to stop thinking about all the different possible outcomes of today. It messes with his mind too much. 

“I’m makin’ rabbit stew with wild greens for supper tonight, so don’t stay out too late with Liam after, alright?”

“Yessir,” Alex replies, standing up and cramming Liam’s portion into a pouch. He’s on the way out the door when Leo calls after him.

“Hey.”

Alex turns on his heel, pulling on his winter coat to mask the stench of sunshine and sweat. “Yeah?”

Leo’s face softens. “Be safe, and be good.”

Alex pushes down his more unpleasant emotions. “Of course.”

Getting scratched by the barbed wire on the electric fence was not on Alex’s to-do list for today. He was careless, and he sure as hell paid for it. It’s a decent cut, but definitely not anything bad enough to warrant stitches. He makes his way around the safe area of the woods that he’s explored at least a hundred times, checking his traps and his snares. He should’ve brought his bow, but they’ve been wiping out the stags lately, and the wild dogs and lynxes scarcely come this far out. 

He hears the whir of an arrow over his head, gasping as it lodges itself in the bark of a nearby pine tree. He wheels around to face his would-be assailant, his blood boiling when he sees Liam standing there, bow in hand, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Fuck _off_ , Liam!” He shouts, loud enough that a few birds nearby take off flying.

Liam snorts. “Good to see you too, Diaz.”

“You could’ve taken my head off, you idiot!” He yells, ripping the arrow out of the tree and throwing it down on the ground. “Stop thinkin’ with your ass and start thinkin’ with your head!”

Liam snickers. “Calm down, Alex. I’d never hit you on purpose.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Liam eats quickly and without restraint; Alex has to beat him on the back when he starts to sputter and cough. 

“Givin’ all your food to your mom again?” He asks. Liam loves his mother— loves her to death— but giving the skinny little woman his daily rations and living off stew scraps and whatever Leo’s been giving him is taking it a little too far. Can’t provide for his hopeless parents if he’s dead from starvation.

Liam sniffs, popping a grape in his mouth. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Well, cut it out.” Alex reprimands, shoving him in the arm. “You’re older than I am, surely you have the sense to eat when there’s food in the house.”

“One would think so.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. The question’s on the tip of both of their tongues, but neither one of them want to ask it. Alex decides that he needs to know— he needs something, _someone_ , to compare his own odds to. 

“How many times are you in this year?” He rasps, folding his hands up in his lap. Liam grunts, clearing his throat. 

“Thirty-six.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Alex knew that he should’ve just got the tesserae for Liam and his family, that he should’ve just fed half the damn Seam. His odds of getting picked are just about as high as Alex’s are. It makes Alex want to scream and curse and damn Liam’s parents, District Twelve, and all of Panem in the same breath. Before he can, Liam speaks up again.

“What about you?”

“Forty-two.”

He doesn’t like the way Liam sighs after he says that. 

“Well, aren’t we most unlucky couple in all of Twelve?” Liam jokes. 

Alex snorts. “That’s one way of puttin’ it, yeah.”

He lays his head on Liam’s shoulder just as he starts to speak up again.

“We could run away, you know.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Liam replies, and Alex can hear the smile in his voice. “I’d head in that direction,” He explains, pointing towards a very distant set of mountains. “And I’d drag you along with me.”

Alex scoffs. “Like any of our folks would survive a week without us.”

“We’d bring ‘em with us, of course.”

“Yeah, because your mother, my father and June would be the _perfect_ trio to bring with us on a damn escape mission.”

Liam grimaces. “Now that you’ve said it, I’m having second thoughts.”

“Someone’s gotta talk some sense into you.”

Liam chuckles, and they fall back into that same uncomfortable silence.

“If they draw me—“ Alex starts.

“Stop.” Liam cuts him off, tone suddenly firm and icy.

“The odds of me getting drawn this year are higher than they’ve ever been.”

“They’re high, but not certain, so stop your cryin’ and moaning about it.”

“Just take care of them for me, alright?” He says, taking on a bit of an attitude. “They’re all damn near helpless, especially Oscar. Man’s an absolute mess.”

“Of course I’ll take care of ‘em.” Liam responds, his own tone taking on a bit of an edge. “And you’ll take care of mine?”

“Hell, I already do.”

“ _Alex_.”

“Yes,” He answers honestly. “The fact that your dad sits on his ass all day instead of workin’ like every other man in the district irks me, but I’m not gonna let him starve.”

“Thank you,” Liam sighs. His hand finds its way into Alex’s hair, fingers twisting around his curls. A comforting action. He lets out a dry chuckle.

“Happy Hunger Games,” He says, voice oozing with sarcasm.

Alex smirks, clearing his throat and taking on a nearly perfect mockery of a Capitol accent. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

When he gets home, the next twenty minutes consist of him dousing himself in scalding water and scrubbing his skin raw. Reaping day’s a damn good excuse to get clean, he’ll give the Capitol that. When he makes his way to his bedroom, he sees that an outfit’s been set out on his bed. Pale blue button-down, black slacks, and the pair of dress shoes he’s only allowed to wear once a year. He changes, and by the time he makes his way into the living room, June’s made her way home from town, dusty grey dress on and hair in a tight, pristine braid.

“Look at _you_ , all gussied up.” He comments, and June gives him a stellar smile. “That dress got pockets?”

“Would it be one of my dresses if it didn’t?” She replies, shoving her hands down into the slits of her skirt. 

“You both look wonderful,” Ellen replies, fixing her hair and pinching her cheeks to add a little color to them. “And I really do hate to break this moment up, but one of y’all need to go make sure your father’s awake unless you wanna be diggin’ his grave tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll do it, meet y’all there.” Alex replies. He kisses his mother’s cheek, then June’s, and gives Leo a firm hug. 

The walk to his father’s house is brisk and devastatingly warm; the sun is beating down with hellish fury— he’ll be surprised if nobody faints this year. He knocks on the door, and when there’s no response, he lets himself inside. He finds his father in his bedroom, standing in front of his mirror and adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. Alex sighs in relief.

“Thought I’d have to wake you up.” He says, and it jolts Oscar out of whatever daydream he’s lost himself in. 

“Not today, son.” Oscar replies, voice gravely and quiet. All those years of breathing in coal dust in the mines really did wonders on his lungs, and his hearing. Half the time he’s not well enough to leave his bed. Hence, Alex coming to collect him. “Gotta make sure you and your little friend are gonna be alright.” 

Alex smiles, setting a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Why don’t you—“

“Speak up son, you know my ears don’t work anymore.”

“Why don’t you go down the street to Mom’s house?” He asks, voice straining a bit from how much he’s raised it in volume. “I’ve gotta make some deals down at the Hob right quick. Y’all can walk together.”

“That works for me. Don’t be late, now.” Oscar orders, giving Alex a serious look.

“I won’t!” Alex shouts in return, running out the front door and through the streets as quickly as he can, his deep pockets lined with small pouches of dried herbs and medicinal plants.

It’s not often that he comes to the Hob— maybe once a month. He always makes good business, though; in ten minutes, all his pouches have been bought off of him, and he’s got June’s wax, her rags, and even a few spools of thread. He stops at a familiar old man’s table to barter for a few spare buttons.

“Afternoon, Mister Connor,” He greets, setting his final bag down on the table. 

The old man scrunches his face up in distaste. “Now Alex, I told you that Stanley works just fine.”

Alex shrugs. “Force of habit.” His eyes scan the separated piles of buttons and rivets, before he meets Mister Connor’s eyes again. “How much can I get for the whole pouch?”

“What’s in the pouch?”

“Nettles and bergamot. Little bit of sage, too.”

“Grab a handful.”

Alex empties the contents of his pouch, and dumps a fistful of buttons and the thread spools inside it; Zahra told him she’d drop off the rags and wax after the reaping. Something in the button pile catches his eye. A curious little golden pin, glinting in the overhead light. He digs it out, and finds that it’s got a mockingjay on it, an arrow clamped tightly in its beak. 

“Now, what’s this?” He asks, setting it on the table and shoving it towards Mister Connor.

“‘S a mockingjay pin,” Mister Connor replies, ever so astute. “Supposed to bring good luck.”

Alex’s bottom lip finds it’s way between his teeth. “How much d’you want for it?”

Mister Connor shakes his head. “You keep it.”

Alex can hear what he really means. _You’ll need it._

He’s on his way to the square as the train whistles sound. He weaves through a crowd of bone-weary men, frail women, and tired children, eventually finding June at the beginning of a line of people waiting to get their fingers pricked, standing just behind a panicking child. He sighs at the inconvenience; if nobody calms this kid down, peacekeepers will restrain the child, take her blood, and then punish her for making a scene, and the thought of that happening on a day like this is downright unsettling. He pushes his way to the front of the line, and turns the girl to face him. Her coils are pressed flat to her face, shining with sweat and tears, and she’s gasping for air. 

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He asks her, pushing a couple of curls out of her eyes.

“I’m scared,” She sobs. 

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

Oh. This is her first time actually doing this. That explains a lot. 

“You’re gonna be okay.” Alex tells her. “All they wanna do is put you in their records, okay sweetie?”

The girl nods, still crying.

“Now all that’s gonna happen is that they’re gonna prick your finger, just to get a little bit of blood—“

“Is it gonna hurt?” She asks.

“Only a little,” He coos. “Just like a bee sting, okay? And when you’re done, you can find your mom and go stand with your friends, alright.”

“Okay,” She hiccups. “Okay.”

He sighs; what he just said didn’t help her whatsoever. He slips his hand into hers. “Hold out your other hand and squeeze your eyes shut, okay? I’m right here.”

He watches as she thrusts her arm out and clamps her eyes shut. The peacekeeper grabs her index finger, takes the blood sample, and presses her finger into one of the blank squares on the page. No way for her to back out now; no way to escape this yearly hellish masquerade. He shushes her as she lets out dry sobs, petting her hair and sticking out his opposite hand. He barely feels the stinging sensation as his finger is pricked and pressed onto the page. He leads the girl away from the line, and asks for her name.

“Claudette,” She replies, finally having calmed down a bit. 

He smiles. “It’s been nice meeting you, Claudette. I’m Alex— come find me if you ever need anything, okay? You can find me anywhere in the Seam. Just ask around.”

She nods. “Thank you— for staying with me.”

He chuckles. “Anytime. Twelve’s gotta stick together. Now get outta here,” He tells her, ruffling her hair. “Go find your parents.”

She goes running off, and when he turns around, he’s faced with a smirking June.

“You goin’ soft on me?”

“Shut up,” He replies, shoving the pouch and pins into her hands. 

He’s standing beside Liam when Nora Holleran mounts the stage. She’s new, as far as reaping escorts go. Leo says he’s the best one Twelve’s had in years. His mother says that she dresses like a harlot. June says she’s hot. All of these statements have made him bust out laughing. This year, her color seems to be acid green; her highlights in her hair, her lips, her dress and her shoes are all the exact same hue. It makes his eyes burn. Rafael Luna— Twelve’s only victor and mentor— is drunk as ever, swaying back and forth in his chair. Alex pities him; his Games were especially rough. Mayor Chen takes center stage, strong voice booming through the microphone, giving an impassioned speech about the history of Panem. She talks about North America, and how they survived wars and disasters and supposed acts of God. She talks about the thirteen districts, the Dark Days, the birth of the Treaty of Treason, and how the Hunger Games are the only sure fire way to be sure that the nation will never suffer through the Dark Days again. It’s all a load of shit; everyone can hear her screaming in her house with the windows locked after the reaping. It’s truly heartbreaking. 

Next, the mandatory video from the Capitol recapping exactly what Mayor Chen just said is projected onto a screen large enough for the whole square to see. Alex can hear Liam snickering, and finds himself desperately trying not to laugh. Panem’s national anthem plays and the video fades to black.

“Oh, I just love that!” Nora exclaims, voice ringing out through the speakers, her deep voice curling around very vowel and raising at the end, as if she’s asking some sort of question. “I do believe the time has come to select our tributes for the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games!” She declares. She claps, and Alex quickly realizes that she has a very punchable face. “Ladies first, of course.” She continues, strolling over to one of the glass bowls and drawing a slip of paper out of it. 

He doesn’t recognize the girl she calls; nobody screams. Nobody says or does much of anything, really. She makes her way up the pathway, and is escorted up the stage steps by peacekeepers. Nora positions her off to the right, and makes her way back to the microphone. 

“And now, for the boys.”

She sashays over to the other glass bowl. Her hand hovers above it, her finger circling around in the air for a while before she plunges her hand in and grabs a slip of paper. She walks back to the microphone, pries it open, and reads the tribute’s name aloud.

_“Alexander Claremont-Diaz.”_


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for emetophobia and general hunger games-esque discussions of death, please take care of yourselves!!

Alex stands there for a moment, in a complete state of shock. He hears gasps, hears someone crumple to the ground. He turns around, and sees two women hoisting his mother up off the ground; there’s no color left in her face, and it makes her face look more thin and withered and pained then he’s ever seen it before.   
  


“Alexander Claremont-Diaz,” Nora reads again, and he feels his heart thumping. He feels a soft hand on his back— Liam’s hand— tucking in the back of his shirt before giving him a quick tap. 

“Up you go,” He whispers, and Alex pretends that he didn’t hear the way Liam’s voice wavered just then.

Alex somehow gets moving, his head held high despite his shaking arms and legs. He weaves through a crowd of boys— some older than him, some younger, and steps out onto the dirty path. He hears some scuffling, and turns around to see June standing about ten paces behind him. 

“Alex, go stand back with the boys,” She demands.   
  


He founders for something to say. “I can’t—“

“Liam will take your place, go, _now_.”

“June, you need to go find Mom—“

“ _No!”_ June screams, shoving away peacekeepers as they come to apprehend her. He’s hyperventilating now, not near tears but so consumed by his own panic that he’s not sure what to do with himself. He blinks— it feels like a blink to him, at least— and he sees that Liam has restrained June and has hoisted her up off the ground. She’s struggling, clawing at his arms and grunting like some sort of deranged animal. Liam, red-faced and tearful, gives a single curt nod in response. 

Alex turns on his heel, and allows the peacekeepers to lead him up the stages concrete steps, hating the way their fingers dig into his arms. June’s screaming like she’s been shot by one of them. Half hysterical, he turns around and sees Liam dragging her off to the women’s section to stand with their mother. 

Nora Holleran’s awful nails poke through his shirt and claw at his back as she moves him across the stage and into his proper place. His legs feel like they’re about to give out. He scans the crowd of older men, and finds his father, red-faced and sobbing. 

“You’re Alexander Claremont-Diaz, correct?” Nora asks, back to the disturbingly peppy tone she had been using earlier.

“Yes,” He replies; he remembers that his mother taught him proper manners, and starts again. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn’t it?”

_It_. Like some kind of fucking animal. He can feel his face— his whole body— burning.

“Yes,” He says, voice raspy and hoarse, bordering on a sob. 

Rafael Luna stands up— it seems that he might actually be making the speech he’s meant to give this year. He takes two big, stumbling steps towards the microphone, vomits down his front, and promptly faints. He hears the female tribute beside him gasp, and he hears Nora’s noise of blatant disgust.

“It seems to me that Twelve is full of excitement this year,” She sighs, turning to Alex and the unfortunate girl that’s been roped into all of this. “Go on now, you two. Shake hands.” She instructs.

The girl lifts her hand first, and after he grasps his bearing, he slots his hand into hers, squeezing it tight. She squeezes back, so light that it feels like nothing at all. She’ll be dead in the first ten minutes.

“Let’s give a round of applause for the tributes of District Twelve!” Nora exclaims, clapping quickly. Nobody else raises their hands to applaud two teenagers being lead away to slaughter; nobody else is that deranged. Instead, he watches as his father touches three fingers to his lips, before raising them up high enough to touch the heavens. Men around him follow suit. He pivots his head, and finds women doing the same. June’s still sobbing; his mother looks completely numb. A while district, saluting their children. They know it’s a death sentence, they all do. He’s just hoping it’ll be as quick and painless as possible.

The first thing Alex does when he’s locked in a room inside Twelve’s government building is sit down. There’s an end table to his left, a wall of books to his right, and the door sits right in front of him. As he runs his fingers over the velvety material of the armrest, he contemplates how he could escape this room. He could open the front door and take off running. He could take a plunging dive out of his window. He could ask to be taken to a restroom, and run for the building’s back door as soon as they let him out. Every last one of these ideas end the exact same way; he’s got a head filled with holes, and Twelve has to hold a second reaping. 

Someone pushing their way through the door pulls him out of his macabre daydreaming. It’s his father. He doesn’t know why, but he wasn’t expecting any visitors. They talk about nothing in a million words, and Oscar slips a big bundle of cookies into one hand, and bag of brightly colored candies into the other.

“Candy’s for Raf,” He explains.

Alex’s brows furrow. “How do you know he likes these?

“Used to run errands for his grandmother,” Oscar tells him, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He was always carryin’ a bag of those around as a kid.”

Alex sighs. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” He tells him, wetting his lips and clearing his throat. “Listen, I know you and Mom don’t get along anymore, but can you please look out for her for me?”

Oscar’s eyes are watering again.   
  


“ _Don’t_ ,” Alex says, firm and unreasonably angry. “Stop that. She’s gonna shut down when I get fucking killed in there, and she’s going to need you—“

“She has Leo—“ Oscar says, weak.

“She needs a _friend_ ,” Alex tells him. “She needs someone who’s gonna know that same evil, ugly pain that she’s about to. You don’t both get to shut down. You just _don’t_ , Dad. You have to be there for her—“

“Wipe your eyes, son.” Oscar tells him, pinching his lips together so they won’t quiver. 

Alex doesn’t wipe his eyes, opting to wrap his arms around his father instead. Someone knocks at the door, furious and fast; peacekeepers. 

“Don’t let her give up because of me.” He whispers. 

“I won’t.”

Peacekeepers barge in, and Oscar is ripped away from a vulnerable Alex, and pushed swiftly towards the door.

“Wait, Dad, I—“ He stammers before the door’s slammed shut.

He didn’t get to say ‘ _I love you’_ before they took him away.

Liam’s the next person that comes to visit him. They stand idle in the room for a good thirty seconds before Alex initiates the conversation.

“If you start taking more tesserae for my family, I’m gonna beat your ass.”

Liam scoffs. “I’m not takin’ tesserae for your family.”

“Good.”

“Because you’re comin’ home.”

Alex snorts. “Says who?”

“Says _me_ ,” Liam replies. “Alex, you know how to swim. You can run. Between Ellen and Oscar, you have the most extensive knowledge of poisonous plants out of everyone in the district. You can set traps, you can make fires, and you can hunt.”

“I can hunt _animals_ , Liam.” Alex tells him. “Not people.”

“In a situation like this, I fail to see the difference.” Liam replies, and Alex is so taken aback by this statement that he flops down into the chair and puts his face in his hands. 

Liam sinks down in front of him, and pulls Alexander’s hands away from his face. “Look at me?” He asks. “Please?”

Alex lifts his eyes up from the carpeted floor, and locks them with Liam’s. 

“I want you to do everything in your power to stay alive for as long as you can, okay?” He murmurs, thumb soothing over the knobby knuckles of Alex’s hands. “You don’t have to win, just try. Please, please try.”

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Alex whispers, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam apologizes. “I’m gonna teach June how to hunt while you’re gone.”

Alex gives him a wet chuckle. “Wish I could be around to see that.”

“You’ll come home, and you’ll see.” Liam insists.

The peacekeepers barge in, Liam stands, going with them willingly. 

“Don’t let them starve!” Alex pleads, hating the sound of unwavering fear in his voice.

“I won’t—“ Liam replies, and the door is slammed again. 

Less than a minute later, June is bursting in the door, flanked by both Ellen and Leo. Alex is half-expecting to be screamed at, but is pleasantly surprised when she hauls him onto his feet and wraps her arms around him. Nobody says anything. Leo looks more somber than Alex has seen him in years; his mother’s fresh-faced loveliness from this morning seems to be light years away. 

June pulls away, and immediately starts securing that silly little mockingjay pin to his shirt. 

“For good luck,” She tells him. 

“Thank you,” He replies, feeling shaky and numb all at once. 

“I want you on your best behavior when you’re up there,” Ellen tells him, moving closer and smoothing over the material of his shirt. “You’re not just representing Twelve, you’re representing this family.”

Alex wants to laugh; she’s already so close to self-destruction. So close to going off the deep end that she’s covering it all with a stiff upper lip. He wants to talk some sense into her, but he knows better.   
  
  


“Yes ma’am,” He replies, sighing softly. He decides to take Liam’s approach. “I’m gonna be fine. I can hunt, and in a pinch, I can fight. I’m not gonna go down without sticking up for myself.”

“You’re a real good kid, Alex.” Leo tells him. “You always have been.”

“And you’ve always been good to my mom,” Alex replies, his ability to hold back tears hanging on by a thread. “I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Peacekeepers knock on the door, and Alex panics.

“I love all of you,” He tells them. “So, so much.”

Everyone rushes to say it back, and the peacekeepers burst in.

“You have to win—“ June sobs, shrieking in fear and agony when peacekeepers drag her out of the room, his mother and Leo led out by strong hands on their arms.

“I promise June—“ He rasps, answered by a final choked-back wail before the door is closed. 

The train is nicer than any place he’s ever been in Twelve. Nicer than the Justice Room, and far nicer than his own home. The girl who came with him has yet to speak, just keeps staring at her hands and rocking back and forth. She had been crying earlier, and her fairer skin had shown that much. He’d been sure to cry earlier on during visitation; the Capitol will use anything as an excuse of weakness, especially tears. 

Nora materializes after a short while, short curly hair let down from the high ponytail it had been in during the reaping. She gives them a tour around the train, and shows them their rooms. The first thing Alex finds himself doing when he’s left to his own devices is take a shower. It’s strange, how they do things in the Capitol; they don’t even wash themselves, everything is done with the touch of a button. The water is at the perfect temperature as he’s scoured until his skin tingles. He’s soaked in so much lavender and cinnamon oil that he feels anointed. His nails are cleaned until there’s not a trace of coal dust, and all the tangles are combed out of his hair. With another press of a button, the water stops, and he is dried. He steps out, shifts towards the wardrobe, and finds a standard shirt and pair of pants. After putting them on, he finds that they are uncomfortably soft.

At dinner, he’s able to find out what type of person Nora actually is. As it turns out, she’s quite intelligent, loves talking about the science and mathematics that goes on inside the train. Apparently, it’s one of the fastest models in the country, and they’ll all be in the Capitol by this time tomorrow. If it weren’t for her job, he thinks that he would like to confide in her on a personal level— perhaps even become her friend. This is too personal, though. Far too personal. 

Dinner consists of smalltalk between the two of them. The girl, who he learns is called Ivy, does not participate. He’s beginning to wonder if she talks at all; she could very well be mute. He can’t blame her, especially not after being raised in Twelve. 

The meal they eat consists of lamb chops, carrot soup, a salad made of leafy greens, creamy mashed potatoes, and chocolate cake. Halfway through, Nora makes a comment on how she was grateful their parents were sophisticated enough to teach them how to use proper dining utensils. This pisses Alex off beyond all else; many families in Twelve aren’t even fortunate enough to eat full meals that require the use of silverware. He makes a point out of throwing his utensils on the floor and eating everything else by hand. It gets a laugh out of Ivy, and a lecture out of Nora about how important decent table manners are. It’s all so rich that he feels sick by the end of the meal. Ivy’s looking a little green; Nora looks satiated.

After dinner, they watch the reaping for the rest of the districts. He feels horrible for the little boy from Eleven; he was barely old enough for the reaping, and nobody volunteered to take his place. It was so silent that he could hear birds chirping in the background of the video The boy from Two catches his eye. He’s tall, and fit, but there’s a glint of something in his eyes that Alex doesn’t quite understand; fear, anger, shock— he doesn’t know. His mentor seems more than pleased, however, satisfied smile paired with eyes exuding nothing but pure bloodlust. 

“What can you tell me about these guys?” Alex asks Nora.

She smiles. “The tribute— Henry Fox, is the brother of his mentor, Philip.”

“Oh.” Alex replies.

He’ll be keeping an eye on Henry. 

Rafael comes stumbling into the sitting area from the hallway, glass of spirits loosely held in his hand. His hair’s a mess, his shirt is wrinkled, and his shoes are nowhere to be found. It’s a tragic sight, really.

“It would appear,” Rafael hiccups, burps, then hiccups again. “That I have missed dinner.”

“Yeah, we ate about an hour ago.” Alex replies, not sure if he’s amused or embarrassed.

Raf completely disregards Alexander’s words, and tries to spin around, but ends up tripping himself on the coffee table. He drops his glass of spirits, and swears, and Alex finds himself laughing alongside Ivy.

“This isn’t _funny!_ ” Nora exclaims angrily. “Need I remind you two that this man’s capabilities are the only thing that are going to keep you alive? He is responsible for mentoring you, for lining up sponsors and presenting gifts during the Games, and here he is, making love to a glass of damn liquor.”

Rafael makes an obscene gesture towards Nora before stumbling, vomiting down his front yet again, and collapsing to the ground. 

That gives Alex a fairly good idea as to how training’s going to go.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pullin up to the Capitol woo woo

Upon realizing that Nora and Ivy are nowhere near about to help him, Alex takes cleaning up Rafael into his own hands. The walk back to his room is a struggle; Rafael is still thin, but he’s a lot heavier than most in Twelve. Alex has difficulty figuring out where he ought to put him— the floor seems cruel, and he doesn’t want to stain the sheets. Ultimately, he opts to have him sit up on the shower wall, a hand on his person to keep him upright. Alex removes his shirt, washes his hands, and starts cleaning Rafael’s face with a wet cloth.   
  


“I can take it from here,” Rafael insists.

Alex scoffs. “You’re too drunk to even sit up properly, got the strength of angels holdin’ you up.”

Rafael lets out a hoarse bark of laughter at that, and Alex tries to not let it irk him. This is his only lifeline. _This_ is the person who decides on life and death when it’s showtime. Could things look any more tragic for him? The thought of his own impending doom makes him sick, so he pushes those intrusive thoughts away for now. He gets him cleaned up, forces him into a new shirt from the wardrobe, and deposits him in bed. He even brings him a glass of water. He remembers the bag of candies in his pocket, and sets them down beside the glass of water. Something tells him this guy’s even more intolerable when he’s sober than when he’s drunk. 

“My dad told me to give those to you,” Alex says, lingering in the room’s walkway.   
  


Rafael eyes the bag of candies, and he laughs, genuinely laughs, his head flopping against the pillows. “Who’s your dad, kid?”

“Oscar Diaz,” Alex replies, taking note of that slip of emotion that’s present in Rafael’s eyes. Something about the mention of his father sobered this man right up.

The room goes quiet for a moment, and then Rafael Luna says something that Alexander isn’t exactly sure how to process.

“Looks like I’ll actually have to work at keeping one alive this year.”

“Anything else you need before I head out?” Alex asks, not about to unpack all of that.

“Turn the light off,” Rafael slurs, and with that, he is left in a dark room with a closed door.

Alexander goes to shove his hands into his pockets, when he feels the cookies his father gave him earlier in his pocket, still wrapped in the same cloth they were when the sweets were presented to him. A surge of uncontrollable, indomitable grief surges through him, and he throws the cookies into the nearest waste bin. His moments of softness and vulnerability are stopping, right here, right now. He cannot afford to cry over his parents, his sister, or what could have been with the boy down the street had his name not been called. And yet, he can’t stop thinking about any of it, especially not after passing a field covered in soft white dandelions. He can’t stop thinking about how, at one point, they were the only thing giving him, June, and their mother any semblance of hope. He remembers the wishes he would make on them; a quart of orange juice for Christmas, a smile on his mother’s face, enough food to soothe June’s sallow skin and sore stomach. He remembers pouring over his mother’s apothecary almanacs with her, memorizing lists of plants safe to eat, plants used in medicine, and plants that could kill someone in a minute. He remembers his father's drawings and maps, and how they would venture into the woods together before he got sick. He remembers being one of the sole providers for half the Seam after a horrible mind shaft explosion, one that wiped out a quarter of the district’s good men.

Those people have _nothing_ , now.

Alexander locks himself in his room, lets out a bloodcurdling, broken shriek, and cries, and cries, and cries until he can’t anymore.

He is weak. He will be dead in the first ten minutes. 

The next morning, Nora has dialed herself down, and acts much kinder towards Alex; he suspects that she heard him crying yesterday evening, but finds himself uncomfortable with the idea of asking. She pedals food onto his plate without even needing to be asked; fried eggs, chilled fruit, ham and fried potatoes— no part of his plate is untouched by food. He drains two glasses of orange juice; she makes a silly face at him for putting ice in it, but he feels that it’s best when it’s extra cold. He draws the line when she’s buttering a biscuit for him and pushing a mug of this steaming, sweet-smelling drink that’s far too light to be coffee in his direction. 

“That’s enough,” He tells her, pulling the mug closer to him, skeptical. “What _is_ this stuff?”

“It’s called hot chocolate, it’s very good,” She tells him, gesturing for him to take a sip; it’s rich, sweet and thick. He thinks that June would love it; his mother would love the tart red juice in the pitcher at the center of the table. “And you need to eat everything on your plate. This isn’t _nearly_ enough, in my opinion.”

Alex snorts, cutting up his eggs and shoving forkfuls into his mouth. “And here I thought that y’all up in the Capitol liked seein’ the districts starve to death.” He tells her.

“Most do,” She concedes, worried lines creasing her forehead. “But I don’t.”

“ _Really_ , now?” He replies, honestly surprised. He’s always seen the Capitolites as these sociopathic, two-dimensional caricatures of real people. Weird, humanoid machines that can only feel when they see others in pain, and they get off on that feeling, chasing after it until they stomp and beat it into the ground. This revelation has shocked Alex, completely and utterly floored him.

“I, for one, think that these damned Games are absolutely barbaric, and wish that I had nothing to do with them.” She continues, sipping from a glass of spirits filled with fresh berries and melon chunks. 

“What the hell are you doing as an escort for Twelve, then?” He asks, confused by her motives. 

“I’m related to the Head Gamemaker,” She replies.

“How so?”

“He’s my grandfather, do you have any other questions?” She asks, a bit of an edge to her voice.   
  


A silence falls between them that Alexander doesn’t particularly care for. He chews the last bit of ham in his mouth, and swallows. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes. It had been awfully rude of him to pry, and as much as Nora Holleran irks him, he just hates to see her upset.

“Oh, don’t apologize,” She sighs in response, draining her glass. “I’m sorry that I’m a participant in all this mess.”

“It’s not your fault.” Alex tells her, picking at his roll. 

“I know it’s not,” She responds. “But standing idly by certainly doesn’t do anything to help the situation.”

Ivy comes to join them within a few short minutes, her hair freshly combed and her eyes lazy with blissful slumber. It seems that Alex was correct about her being mute; she communicates what she wants with hand gestures, pointing, and motions. He honestly holds a lot of respect for her— come time for interviews, the Capitol will be pissed when she doesn’t utter a word. She probably isn’t intended it in the way he’s interpreting it, but he salutes her silent rebellion. She eats very methodically, starting with her ham and potatoes, then a roll, and then a handful of blueberries. She downs a glass of water at the very end of her meal, and it makes him wince; who waits until the end of a meal to drink? He also notices that Nora doesn’t try to fatten her up at all— he very quickly realizes that this is because she realizes that the odds of Ivy getting out of the games are slim to none.

A half hour and two cups of red juice later, Rafael joins them for breakfast, looking hungover and pissy. 

“So nice of you to join us,” Nora sneers, scoffing as she watches him pour a glass of whiskey for himself. 

“Only here for the refreshments, sweet pea.” Rafael says, shit-eating grin on his face. Alex had been right in his suspicions; this guy is absolutely insufferable when he’s sober. 

Alex hates the uncomfortable, tense atmosphere, so he decides to start a conversation of strategy. “So,” He starts, folding his hands into his lap and wetting his lips with his tongue. “Any advice on what to do when we’re in the arena?”

“Woah, woah, _woah_ ,” Rafael laughs. “Slow your roll, son. You missed that conversation forty-five minutes ago when the other one came storming into my private quarters to wake me up for breakfast. Gave her a rundown on food, water, shelter—”

“How _do_ you find shelter?” He asks, pushing forward.   
  


“Where’s the ice?” Rafael asks, clearly ignoring Alexander as he peers around the table.

“Look, you’re our mentor, how how ‘bout you give us some goddamn advice?” Alex spits, and he can tell that he’s not making things better when Nora gasps and Ivy presses her face into her hands.

Rafael takes a sip from his glass, ponders Alex’s question, and speaks up. “Know that when you’re in there, starving, freezing, and dying of dehydration, that the whole world is dying, and know that there will be absolutely _nothing_ that I can do to help you.”

With a set look of anger on her face, Ivy snags the glass of whisky from Rafael’s hand, and as soon as he looks like he’s going to raise her hand against her in return, Alex grabs the knife from the margarine dish, and throws it past Rafael’s head. It grazes his ear, and flies towards the wall, sliding effortlessly through the air vent.   
  


A gasp rips through Nora’s chest. “ _Alexander!_ ”

Rafael slams his hands down on the table and stands up, making Alex flinch when he gets in his face. 

“You know how you survive, sweetheart?” Rafael asks, spit flying from his lips. “You get people to _like_ you, and as of right now, your odds are lookin’ pretty fuckin’ grim.”

Alex’s heart is beating out of his chest as he watches Rafael sink back down into his seat, his spiteful gaze drifting to a shaking Ivy.

“And as for you,” Rafael continues, his tone a warning one. “Do not ever, _ever_ , touch my drink. Am I understood?”

Ivy nods frantically, expression sour, her eyes hollow with fright.

“Good,” He sighs, looking between the two of them. “If you both are willing to listen, really, truly listen, I’ll keep myself sober enough to teach you a thing or two. Deal?”

Alex finds himself nodding before he can even process the words that have left Raf’s mouth. “Deal.”

“In that case, the second piece of advice I have for you both today is to let your stylists do whatever they please,” He says, swirling the liquor around in his glass before downing it. “An outfit can make or break it for ya. Let’s just hope they’re worth a damn.”

Within the next two hours, Nora informs them that they’re coming up on the Capitol. Alex finds himself recalling all of Panem’s geography that he learned in his last year of school. The Capitol is in a place that was once known as the Rocky Mountains. It’s colder up here, and there are mountains, but he can only imagine how beautiful the original mountain range must have been. Twelve has been a popular area for coal mining for centuries, before Panem was even a thought in any sane person’s mind. Because of this, they have to dig deeper, and their miners have to go lower down into the earth to mind unused coal. This has caused the fair share of casualties over the years; just thinking about it makes Alex queasy. 

As they make their way into the Capitol, Ivy makes her way over to the window, and Alex is mortified when he sees her waving to these people. She waves him over, and he turns her down, sticking his nose in the air and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Absolutely not,” He sniffs, not wanting anything to do with these sadistic bootlickers.

“That one’s got the right idea,” Raf says, sucking on an orange hard candy from the bag Alex had gifted him yesterday. “Some of these people are ridiculously wealthy.”

He remembers what Rafael told him; if he wants to survive, he needs people to like him. Pushing his pride aside, he schleps over to the window, peering out and taking in the vast sea of people. He finds that they look false, entirely inhuman, like government-mutated things decked out in neons and pastels and feathers and glitter. They’re screaming and laughing and waving; someone points him out, and people are suddenly desperate to get his attention.

He gives a nervous, uncomfortable wave, and the crowd roars.   
  


Raf and Nora laugh; Alex doesn’t think it’s very funny.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Costumes, tribute parades, first real encounters, and some subtle trans Alex. Alex also tries his hand at flirting to “assert dominance” lmao. Enjoy!

Alex hates his time in the remake center. Hates, hates, hates it. He has been waxed, trimmed, buffed, and polished. His skin is aching and burning as they tend to his cuticles and cut his nails and varnish them in clear polish. The process in its entirety was long, painful, and tiring, but he kept what Rafael said in mind; these people make or break his chances of coming home. He feels more vulnerable than he ever has before; these people are seeing parts of him that he doesn’t even like to look at for too long. He remembers all the fits that he would throw when he was shoved in the wrong uniforms or when his hair was cut too long. It became such a problem that his parents marched up to Mayor Chen’s house and filled out mountains upon mountains of paperwork. Amy had acted as a mediator between his parents and the Capitol for half a year, until finally, finally, he had all the proper paperwork. He wonders if the Capitol will go through the trouble of portraying him as he truly is when he dies. Probably not.

He hears Olympia, the head of his prep team, a woman with powder blue-dyed skin and an outrageous wig, mumble something to another stylist. Her voice is just high enough, and her accent is just strange enough, that he catches her voice.

“What was that?” He rasps, lifting himself up onto his elbows. His chest— his body— shifts uncomfortably, and he lays down again.

“I was just noticing how resilient you are,” Olympia says, her laugh an eerie, high-pitched titter. “Some years, the tributes cry and scream and yell. We don’t take too kindly to whiners around here, do we, Eros?”

Eros, an interesting-looking man decked out from head-to-toe in a shocking shade of pink, lets out a horrific giggle. “No, we really don’t.”

So his silence had worked out in his favor. Good.

“Would you like to be hosed down again before we take you to Pez?”

He has no idea who ‘ _Pez_ ’ is, and he doesn’t particularly want to know. Another round of cleaning will by him time, so despite his tingling skin, he nods. 

“Yes, please, that would be lovely.” He sighs, and to his shock, Olympia smiles.

“Quiet, well-mannered, and cleanly,” Eros notes. “We can work with that.”

His chest spasms several times over; people are willing to work with him. Maybe he won’t die so early on after all. 

He can’t help but feel anxious when he’s transported to another room in nothing but a paper-thin dressing gown. He tries to think back to more calming events that have happened today. The look of genuine glee on Eros’ face when he was personally thanked for helping Alex look so pretty. The shower he took to start off the morning, slow and warm, massaging the tension from his muscles after a night of stressful sleep. Breakfast with Nora, Ivy, and Raf, complete with a cup of coffee and a roll slathered in honey butter. These are all things that bring him piece, but nothing can stop the flux in his heartbeat, constantly rising and sinking.

The door to the room is opened, and he grips the bottom of the padded examination table he’s sitting on. He’s been warned that he might be asked to undress by his stylist, and he’s not about to do so without putting up a good fight. He expects another candy-coated alien person to make an appearance, but the person that does shocks him. He’s not exactly able to tell if they’re a man or a woman, so he doesn’t bother with guessing. They’re dressed in black from their turtleneck to their combat boots, a giant black shawl infused with golden glitter draped over their strong, elegant form. Sparkling rings adorn fingers, their nails coated in black polish. Their eyes are rimmed with black kohl and topped with metallic golden liner. The only thing outside of this strict color scheme is their berry-colored lips, which are currently curling into an elegant smile. 

“Alex Claremont-Diaz?” They ask, voice deep and vibrant, their smile shining like sequins. They’re already shocking him; the only thing he’s been called here up until now is Alexander. 

He nods, keeping his arms wrapped around his chest. He doesn’t want them to see, and he doubts that they want to be shown what lays beneath this pathetic scrap of fabric. Then again, knowing the people here, he’s unsure on his current mindset. He bears down on his chest with his arms, uncomfortable.

“I’m Pez, I’ll be your stylist while you’re here in the Capitol,” They tell him, brilliant smile not wavering for a moment.

He feels confused. He’d been expecting someone with dyed, stenciled skin or altered body parts. Pez is ridiculously down to earth, at least when compared to their fellow Capitolites. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. More malice, maybe? More narcissism? More blood lust? He knows one thing for sure: Pez is an oddity.   
  


“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,” Alex apologizes, his voice making a froggy, croaking sound from lack of use. “I know everyone with Twelve gets us because of rotten luck.”

“I chose Twelve, actually,” Pez admits, making his way around the table in low circles, studying Alex’s body for a moment. “My first real project. They wanted to put me in charge of Two, but I didn’t let them.”

“Why would you do a thing like that?” He asks. “I mean, isn’t that a bit of a career-destroying move?”

Pez smiles. “It’s about time we give Twelve something to talk about.” They say, stopping in front of him. They reach out, and Alex’s arms tighten around himself, apprehensive. To his surprise, he finds fingers tangling in his hair, massaging at his scalp. “I absolutely _adore_ your hair.”

Alex gives a small grin in response. “Thank you. My hair’s the one thing that went pretty much untouched.”

“Good, I think I’d have screamed if I’d learned that they’d cut it.”

Alex’s stomach growls, and he cringes, peering down at the floor. 

Pez chuckles. “Let’s get you into some proper clothes. You must be ravenous.”

And with that Pez disappears to find an outfit, and Alex is left with more questions than answers.

The outfit consists of a breathable shirt and cotton pants that cinch at the ankles. Pez apologizes for not knowing about the ‘ _situation_ ’ with his body, and it confuses him. His body’s always been just that, his body. He’s never stopped to ponder that it might be a ‘ _situation_ ’ in the mind of others. He’s promised a tighter-fitting garment for his chest soon, and he feels sick; the last thing he needs is more attention attracted to it. 

Lunch with Pez is good, yet entirely overwhelming. Chicken with oranges in a creamy, savory sauce, with pearly white grain served on the side. He’s told that it tastes best with butter and a bit of sugar. The grain’s texture is a bit gummy, but it’s honestly some of the most filling food he’s had in a great while; he can’t imagine how much happier the people of Twelve would be if this was a local crop for them. There are also green peas with onions, flower-shaped rolls, and honey-colored putting that tastes like home. He’s given a can of something to drink, and coughs in panic when it bubbles and bursts against his tongue and the inside of his throat. Pez apologizes, takes it away, and replaces it with water. Halfway through, he pauses to take a breather, and wonders just how long it would take him to replicate this meal in Twelve. He simply cannot imagine what he would do with his time if he didn’t dedicate so much of it to hunting and gathering. 

“You must be disgusted by such lavish, materialistic lifestyles,” Pez comments, partaking in a spoonful of pudding before continuing. “You have to just loathe every last one of us.”

Alex sighs, index and middle fingers circling the rim of his glass. “I hate most of them,” He admits, looking up at Pez, giving what he hopes is an expression of earnest. “But not you.”

Pez smiles. “That means a lot to hear from you, Alex.”

He shrugs. “It’s just the truth.”

“I know. That’s why it means so much.”

For the opening ceremonies later that evening, it is revealed by both Pez and Cleo— Ivy’s stylist— that they will be dressed in complimentary outfits. This raises concern for Alexander. Twelve has had its fair share of controversies and catastrophes, especially regarding opening ceremony outfits. Because the outfits are supposed to reflect Twelve’s industry, their outfits will focus around the mining of coal. He’s worried that tonight will be a repeat events of past Games, that they’ll be dressed in miner’s jumpsuits, or stripped naked, slathered in oil, and and dipped in ashy, black dust. He expresses these worries out loud, and Pez and Cleo both look at him like he’s committed high treason.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, darling.” Pez assures him, patting his shoulder. “We’ll be taking a new, exciting approach to Twelve’s costumes this year.”

Alexander and Ivy share a terrified look.

“Go on,” Cleo implores. “Tell them about the amazing idea you’ve had.”

Pez smirks. “Instead of focusing on the coal, we’ll be bringing in a new element to toy with.”

Alex’s brows furrow. “What?”

The glint in Pez’s eyes say it all. “Fire, of course.”

The bodysuit that Pez shoves Alex into is a surprisingly comfortable combination of a breathable mesh blend, and black metallic body armor. His sleeves end at his elbows, and the bottoms end a little shorter than midway down his thighs. His nails are painted with black polish, and soot-like powder is smeared from his knees to his ankles, prosthetic pieces made to look like lumps of coal strategically adhered in place. He’s placed in a pair of tall black boots with buckles and straps, and Pez rims his eyes with their signature kohl while Olympia adheres a clear quartz crystal to his left shoulder pad. 

“I thought you said we were focusing on _fire_ ,” He murmurs, and Pez giggles.

“We are,” They assure him, cleaning their hands before grabbing a brush and a jar of styling cream, tackling Alexander’s hair to sort out his mane and make every curl stand out. “We have to give them a full outfit to look at besides that, though.”

“How unfortunate,” Alex sighs.

Pez lets out a hearty laugh, and Olympia makes that god-awful squawking bird noise. 

Ivy’s outfit isn’t much different than his. Her brilliant red hair is let down— it appears to have been straightened, then manually curled. His jagged slopes have been translated into curved edges for her, and instead of being given proper trousers, she has been placed in a leotard to show the full length of her legs. Her eye makeup is dramatic and attention grabbing, her boots are heeled, and instead of having one crystal on her shoulder, both of her shoulder pads have been swapped out for grey geodes. Alex tells her that she looks beautiful, and she stands up on her toes to kiss his cheek.   
  


They’re led to the chariot and helped up into it, when Alex realizes that he’s about to be lit on fire. Pez strikes a match, and he uses every muscle and bone in his body to keep from flinching.

“Don't be scared,” Pez coos sweetly.

“I’m not,” Alex insists, and Pez smiles in response.

“Breathe in,” They instruct, setting fire to the protective material of his outfit. 

Alex’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Breathe out.”

Alex exhales, realizes he isn’t dying, and calms down. Ivy grabs his hand and squeezes it. Hard. She looks amazing, like a creature born in ashes, merely bathing in the open flames. He decides that he must look just as otherworldly. 

“And, you’re off,” Pez announces, and Alex has to grip the side of the chariot to keep himself from falling over. 

He and Ivy are greeted by a roaring crowd as they enter the procession. A sea— an arena— of cheering people, all dying to grab ahold of his attention. The crowd is won over with minimal effort and he exploits the fuck out of the crowd’s love and affection. He waves, and boatloads of people wave back. He winks and dozens of people— both men and women— end up gasping and fainting. If nothing else, this is a major boost for his ego and self-esteem. 

Ivy tugs his hand up, and he snaps it back down, looking at her. She raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on her face and a dangerous glint in her eyes. Suddenly, he understands what she’s getting at, and lifts their arms up into the air. Everyone is screaming so loud that Alexander’s ears are ringing and the ground feels like it’s shaking. He smiles, and he can’t help himself; he feels like a god amongst men.

They pull into the center of the stadium, and lower their arms. He looks around, and finds all the other tributes looking at him. Some are shocked, others wear blank, expertly-hidden expressions. Henry Fox locks eyes with him, and goddamn, is it intense. He doesn’t seem angry or murderous, or even shocked. He seems to be utterly enraptured. Alex pulls his eyes away, and looks up, at the Presidential Box, where President Jeffrey Richards is holding his hand up, silencing the crowd in order to give his yearly welcome speech. The sight of him fills Alex with so much rage that it makes his teeth ache. He feels little to no fear as he stares Richards down. He looks at them briefly, like small, amusing little creatures, and then begins. 

“Welcome,” Richards says once, softly, a horrifying smile creeping onto his face when the crowd cheers for a final time before dying out altogether. “Welcome! Tributes,” He continues, extending his arms down and out towards the twenty-four children that he’s just sentenced to death. “We welcome you. Happy Hunger Games,” He concludes, booming voice echoing through the stadium. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

They’re pulled off the chariot and properly put out, and then Nora wraps her arms around Alex and Ivy, squeezing them tight and letting out a squeal of satisfaction. 

“You two looked were absolutely marvelous out there!” She says, releasing them and grabbing onto Alex’s shoulders, squeezing and shaking them. “People are _still_ talking about you!”

Raf comes walking up with a flask and a shit-eating smirk. He looks pointedly between the two of them, and gives them a thumbs up.

“Nice job,” He says, turning his attention to Alex. “‘Specially you, sweetheart. Heard you’re the Capitol’s newest stud muffin.”

Ivy doubles over laughing, and Alex snorts. “I try my best.”

“Well, it shows.”

Alexander feels like someone is watching him. He turns around, and Henry is there again, his expression very obviously amused. He takes a moment to properly study his outfit. District Two is masonry and weaponry, and it appears that his stylist has brought the elements of steel into his costume. An under-layer of charcoal grey, comprised of a slimming turtleneck and fitted pants. Over the top, in a lighter shade that’s closer to silver, a pair of practical riding boots, and a buttoned-up horse-riding jacket. The buttons are red, blue, and yellow, and shaped like sparks, shining and scintillating in the light. 

He has to assert dominance, in whatever way he can. He makes eye contact with Henry, and before anyone catches on to what he’s doing, he blows him a kiss and winks at him. He watches his pale face go bright red as he looks away. He was only half-expecting it to work; Henry’s more shy and awkward than one would think. If only he could get inside the minds of all the other tributes. He might actually have a chance at winning, then. It’s only when he makes eye contact with Philip, then the female tribute— both looking seconds away from murdering him in cold blood— that Alex realizes that now might not have been the best time.

“Let’s get out of here, Alex,” Raf says, tone hovering somewhere between concerned and serious, and Alex just can’t leave without getting in one last blow. He can play along; if Panem wants someone flirty and fun to look at, he can be that for them. 

“Bye, Henry,” He calls out, waving at him before turning on his heel.   
  


Raf practically pulls his arm out of socket trying to drag him away, and he cackles all the way to the elevator.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double update!! Last chapter was cute, this one is Sad ™️

After they leave the stadium, Alex, Ivy, and all the other tributes are taken to the Training Center. Upon first glance, it looks just like any other skyscraper the Capitol has to offer, except there’s a flat, level rooftop rather than a spire. Nora takes the way, as if she’s visited the building before at least a million times, and starts prattling off random facts about the building’s history and purpose and architectural design. Alex doesn’t expect it all to be nearly as interesting as it is.

“Damn, you know just about everything.” Raf points out, and Alex is unsure if he’s amazed or annoyed. 

Nora smiles proudly in return. “Just part of the job. Have to be a bit of a travel expert.”

“That’s one way of puttin’ it,” Alex replies, grinning when Raf lets out a dry wheeze. Nora didn’t think it was very funny, however, and gives him a long, tiring lecture on the importance of the Games, the same one he’s heard so many times that he’s stopped keeping track. 

Their stop is the twelfth floor; a lovely little penthouse apartment that the team gets to have all to themselves. Just from the decor, he can tell that this suite was not designed to bring comfort to the tributes. Lime green chairs in the kitchen, ceilings that touch the stars, purple carpet and a big, teal sectional couch. He finds himself missing the creaky floorboards and old, homemade rocking chairs from District Twelve.   
  


He finds his room, and it all gets that much more uncanny. On the big, lush bed, lies his outfit from the reaping, pin still perfectly intact, right where he’d left it. The first thing he does is take a shower. Undressing requires some assistance from Pez; as soon as he’d begun to undress, he’d realized just how tangled he was in the fabric, and that fake rocks were still stuck to his legs, and he’d begun to panic. A set of buttons are pressed, and he’s blasted in hot water and scoured until his skin turns pink. Floral, powdery-smelling soap is lathered onto his skin, and then he’s rinsed off. His hair is washed, treated in hot aloe vera oil, rinsed, and combed out.

He stands in his towel in his room for a second, just feeling a bit overwhelmed by the Capitol’s, well, everything. He’s not used to having so many options; in Twelve, you find a way to do it something, and you do it that way until you die. No improvements or deviations; if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. The fact that there’s so much being thrown at him so fast makes his head spin. 

A remote controller sits on the bedside table, and he picks it up out of curiosity. Hesitantly, he clicks a button. The walls around him change to a hologram of a vacant desert, nothing but sand, cacti and tumbleweeds as far as the eye can see. He clicks another button, and it’s footage of the brightly-colored alien people who live here, talking and laughing and making their way through the busy streets together. He clicks the button again, and a gasp rips through his chest. The woods just outside of Twelve. He scrambles to hit the off button, and the walls return to their normal grey color. Alex throws the remote down on the ground, watching as the back pops off and the batteries fall out. Good. He hates this place; he wants nothing more than to go home, but that isn’t exactly an option right now. Instead, he grabs his bundle of clothes, and makes his way back into the restroom to change. 

When he comes down for dinner, nearly everyone balks when they see him in his outfit from the reaping. It doesn’t give him the satisfaction that he thought it would. If anything, it doubles the churning of his stomach. Nobody really comments on it, though. Ivy gives him a look of understanding sympathy. He squeezes his eyes shut so that he doesn’t have to see it anymore.

Having Pez at dinner with them is a good thing; it keeps Nora and Rafael from fighting with one another so much. They’re not acting as mediator, so much as they’re constantly keeping the conversation going, picking up on everyone’s energy and interests and trying to engage with everyone equally. They seem to notice that Alex doesn’t feel like talking, though, and occasionally pat him on the back, acting as some sort of positive reinforcement just for bothering to sit at the table. Despite the flask from earlier, Alex realizes that this is the first time that he’s really seen Raf sober. It bothers him; all of today’s loudness and changes are bothering him. Everyone is wordless as he tries a glass of wine. He immediately regrets his decision— he doesn’t like the dry, tart taste, or the way that it makes his mind go foggy. He doesn’t see how Rafael does this all the time. 

Dinner is more like a feast, much to Alexander’s dismay. He nibbles on the food he happens to be most familiar with— goose liver, and plain, puffy bread. He feels like he might scream when Raf pushes more food onto his plate, calling it ‘just an appetizer’ and telling him that he needs to load up his plate and eat more. There’s savory mushroom soup, bitter greens and tiny tomatoes, rare roast beef, noodles in green sauce, and cheese with blue grapes. They eat, continue watching the opening ceremonies, and eventually, Pez suggests that they order a cake flambé to celebrate Alex and Ivy’s fiery entrance on the global stage. He is absolutely dying to get away from the table, but doesn’t protest.

A young woman brings out the alcohol-soaked cake, and his blood runs cold. He knows her, and knows exactly where he knows her from.

“Excuse me,” He speaks up, locking eyes with the girl. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

The girl’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head frantically before quickly vacating the dining area. Nora scoffs and swats him on the arm. 

“She’s an Avox, Alexander. She had her tongue cut out for high crime— probably something treasonous— you wouldn’t know her from anywhere.”

Oh, dear God.

Ivy taps the table, then makes a writing motion with her hand. A pen and a clean napkin are passed around the room until they reach her. She scribbles something down on the napkin, and passes it to Alex. 

“You’re right,” He sighs, folding up the napkin before resigning to balling it up in his fist. “She does look like Terra Rathbone.”

That had been a bold-faced lie— that girl and Terra Rathbone from school look nothing alike. Not even close. Ivy saw him slipping, though, and she gave him an excuse for what could be deemed ‘odd behavior’. The cake is sliced and passed around; he turns down his slice and asks to be excused. He needs to get out of here. Now. He knows he can’t make any attempts to leave the building; he’ll be drugged and beaten within an inch of his life. The only reason why they wouldn’t shoot him in this scenario is because it’s far too late to go back and pick the next-best boy from Twelve. So instead, he presses the button for the roof, and buries his face in his hands, trying not to scream where people can hear him. 

When he gets up there, however, it appears that a tribute is already taking in the evening scenery. Lo and behold, it’s fucking _Henry_. He flounders, backs up into the elevator again, reaches for the buttons, but he’s already been heard. Henry turns around, locks eyes with him, and looks briefly panicked before letting out a soft sigh.

“I thought you might have been someone dangerous,” Henry explains, voice suiting the strange accent of District Two quite well. Alex hates the implications of his statement. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I uhm,” Alex stammers, shuffling forward nervously, making it out just before the elevator doors shut. “I was just looking for someplace where I could be alone.”

Henry smiles empathetically. “I understand. The last few days have been a lot, haven’t they?”

Alex nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah. They’ve been pretty rough.”

Henry raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Depends,” Alex admits. “Can I trust you enough to not kill me as soon as the Games start?”

Henry snorts, shaking his head. “Do you think _that_ lowly of me?”

“Yes,” Alex confesses. “Yes I do. You being a Career and me being myself definitely puts one of us at a disadvantage,” He reminds Henry. “And it sure as hell ain’t me, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m sort of shit at everything they’ve tried to train me at, so I personally don’t think you need to worry too much,” Henry debates, and God, his smile is so perfect that Alex wants to punch him because of it. “I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“Not even your brother?” Alex questions.

“ _Especially_ not my brother,” Henry confirms. “He’s a right mess. I don’t tell him half the things I’m thinking.”

For some strange, disgusting emotional reason, this leads Alexander to trust Henry. He sits beside him on the roof and just unloads every fucking emotion he’s felt since the moment he was reaped. He talks about his family, about Mom and Leo and June and Dad. He talks about Liam, about breaking the law by hunting in the woods. About how he provides for so many people, and how he feels like he’s let them down by letting this happen. He talks about being here in the Capitol, and feeling overwhelmed and sick and afraid. He talks about the Avox he saw in the dining room. How, at one point, he saw her in the woods while he was hunting with Liam. How she’d had a boy with her, looking ragged, like they’d been hiding for weeks. How they hadn’t heard the hovercraft coming. How she had been captured, and they boy with her had been impaled by a spear. How she had locked eyes with Alex, and at risk of turning out like her, he said said and done nothing.

Henry sits there, and he listens to it all. When Alex is finished, Henry drapes his jacket over his shoulders. Alex hates the casual friendliness, but slips his arms into the sleeves anyways. In turn, he listens to Henry talk about two. How both of his parents had been Victors in their respective rights. How his father had died as a result of injuries from his Games, and how his mother is irrevocably depressed. How all of his siblings have been reaped. Philip hasn’t stopped pushing his body to the fullest extent. His sister Beatrice holes herself up in her house and listens to music because she can’t handle leaving her little bubble anymore. How he knew it was coming, but it had only been a matter of time. How, despite endless years of training, he couldn’t possibly feel any more unprepared. How he just wants to go home and see his mother one last time before the world caves in. 

Alex is shaking and watery-eyed by the time Henry finishes. He had never thought, not in a million years, that they might be such similar people. Sure, the differences outweigh the similarities, but his story resonates with Alexander very deeply. 

“I hope,” Alex shudders, voice soft and quiet. “I really hope it’s not gonna come down to you and me, Henry.”

Henry makes a wet sniffing sound, and Alex has to bite down on the insides of his lips to keep them from quivering. “I hope so too, Alex.”

“If it does,” Alex sighs, standing up and walking towards the elevator. “You know what to do.”

“I—“ Henry starts, and Alex presses the button to open the elevator doors.

“I want you to get back to your mom, Henry,” Alex tells him, finishing that mess before it even gets to start. “You deserve to tell her you love her. I didn’t get to say that to my dad, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Alex—“

“Goodnight,” Alex says, panicking as his hand slams down on the button for his floor, doors shutting as he’s taken away.

In the brief moment of loneliness he’s allowed in the lift, he lets out an angry, agonized, eardrum-bursting shriek. It feels good, like he’s been needing to do this all goddamn day long. He stops as soon as the doors open, and creeps past Nora and Pez in the living room, slightly tipsy and watching last year’s Games on the television. 

Alex lays in bed once he gets to his room, Henry’s jacket still zipped around himself. It feels horribly fucking wrong, but the gesture brings him comfort, and he can’t quite bear to part with the jacket yet. He thinks back to that moment with the Avox in the woods. He still feels guilty for doing nothing at all to help her, to try to save her. He was a bystander; it felt like he was watching the Games himself. 

As he falls asleep, he wonders if that girl will enjoy watching him die. 


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training chapter woohoo let’s get into it

Today marks the first day of training for Alexander and Ivy. Alex is half-annoyed and half-amused to find that they’ve been dressed in identical red and black training suits. Sitting next to her at the breakfast table, he realizes just how small Ivy is. She’s not little, not short— thin and compact. She can make herself so tiny, can squeeze into the tightest of spaces. She’s probably only eighty pounds soaking wet. Given her age— Alex has learned that she’s fifteen— he’s surprised that she’s made it this far. She’s a survivor; she might last longer than anyone’s thinking.

He can’t help but think that they’ll have to drop this unifying twin act soon. Especially when they’re expected to kill one another. It already feels so tragic and ridiculous, holding hands in the chariot and acting so chummy towards one another. He’s already decided that if it somehow— magically— comes down to the two of them, he’ll let her go home. He won’t turn on Twelve by killing one of his own. He hopes it won’t come down to that, though. For a sick show of math, of statistics and strategy and probability, he’s relying on quite a lot of dumb luck and naive wishes. 

Over a breakfast of granola, oatmeal, toast, and fresh, ripe fruit, they speak of training and special skills. Ivy points at herself and shakes her head. She points at Alex and makes the action of drawing back and releasing an arrow. 

“I hunt, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at it,” He grunts through a mouthful of citrus fruit. “I’m sure you’re good at something, Ivy. You’re quiet, and you know how to keep yourself hidden. That’s more useful than you’d think.” He tells her, taking a drink from his glass of water.

“He’s right,” Raf replies, stabbing at the sausages on his plate. “Self-preservation is key to staying alive. Doesn’t matter if pretty boy’s good with a bow, if he gets too careless and slips up, he’ll be going home in a wooden box with the number twelve written on the top lid.”

Alex chokes, then gags, at this thought. What Raf’s just said is completely true, but it’s extremely unpleasant to visualize or think about.

Rafael shrugs, taking a sip of water; Alex only knows that it’s water because he demanded to smell it beforehand. “Better get used to thinking about scary shit, sweetheart— only one of you are coming out, and the odds are stacked against both of you.”

Alex can’t help but worry about Ivy. He’s the type of tribute that the Capitol takes interest in. People will be there to help him. He’ll get most things he needs via parachute. She’s walking into this blind and dumb and, quite honestly, completely helpless. He can only hope that she’s opting to be humble, that she’s actually hiding a valuable skill set beneath the standard layers of District Twelve humility. 

Rafael tells both of them to steer clear of any training stations that could reveal their strongest abilities. They’re advised to stick to things like starting fires, knot-tying, and the like. They’ve been given three days to train and prepare for the arena, before their private sessions with a panel of judges. They’re told to stick together, but he and Ivy share a mutual look; come to me only if I’m in danger. Rafael is trying to sell a story of camaraderie, of two scrappy kids joined at the hip. It can only go so far, especially when the scrappy kids in question don't fully buy it themselves.

  
In the Training Center, they start off with a speech. The head trainer, a woman with a shaved head and a small star tattoo on her left cheekbone is prattling on about statistics. The number of them that will die from starvation, the number of them that will end up dead by the end of day one, the fact that exposure can kill just as easily as a knife can; it’s a lot to take in. It would be a lot to take in for just about anyone. He orbits the training space for a while, taking in his fellow tributes— his competition. Naturally, the Careers are intimidating as ever. The duo from One are absolutely ruthless, training with spears and practicing hand-to-hand combat with one of the trainers. The tributes from Four are large and fast, but they don’t seem to have a fighting style that they truly excel at. The girl from Two— the one that Henry came with— Alex isn't even entirely sure that she’s human, throwing knives with absolute precision, nailing the dummies in their target points every single time. He’ll have to keep an eye on her. 

Speaking of Henry, he finds him hunched over a table, gnawing on his bottom lip, deep in concentration. It intrigues him, but after last night, he’s hesitant to approach him. Something in him takes over, however, and he finds himself inching closer. When he’s about five feet in front of the table, Alex notices that Henry has transformed the lower half of his arm. Using paint, he has managed to replicate the color and texture of the bark on the fake tree behind him. It’s shocking; it’s _stunning_.   
  


“How’d you do that?” He asks, breathless, and Henry jumps, looking up at him. When he realizes that it’s only Alex, he smiles, and sets his brush down.

“Years of practice, I suppose,” He replies, face flushing bright pink. “I loved painting as a child, and excelled in the arts in school.”

“That’s one way of puttin’ it.” Alex replies, and to his shock, Henry laughs. He hates that his laugh is so warm and friendly. He hates that it’s so hard to hate Henry. 

“Thank you, my skills are a bit rusty, and I figured that now’s as good a time as ever to freshen up.”

Alexander can’t help himself. “Why aren’t you runnin’ around with your little buddies?” He asks. He knows he ought to feel some sort of shame for asking a question like that, but he doesn’t; he needs to know what kind of game Henry is trying to play right now.

Henry snorts. “They aren’t my friends,” He corrects, setting down his paintbrush and placing his hand down on the cold metal table. “Can’t stand any of them.”

Alex chuckles. “Not even the girl from your district?”

“Persephone?” Henry asks, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “That girl is _deranged_ ; she was supposed to go off to Eleven to serve as a Peacekeeper before the reaping.”

Alex winces. Everyone knows that the peacekeepers in Eleven tend to be the most ruthless and strict. Some of the softer ones from his own district have told him stories that he will never forget so long as he lives.

“Say less,” is his only response, and Henry laughs again.

They drift from station to station, avoiding any of the combat-based ones at Alexander’s request. He finds that Henry’s education and training for the Games back in Two was strictly combat-based. 

“You better be feelin’ real lucky you have me,” He jokes, leaning over Henry’s back, chin digging into his shoulder as he guides his hands into making a proper knot. “You’re damn near helpless.”

He sees a smile forming on Henry’s face. “You say that, but I bet you would be absolutely lost in a combat situation.”

“Sweetheart, I hunted wild dogs and lynxes back at home. I’ve been ripped up real mean. This ain't special.”

“So you’re saying that an alliance wouldn’t be beneficial?”

Alex freezes, backing up just a bit. “Who said anything about an alliance?”

Henry turns around, face suddenly concerned. “Is that not something that you would be interested in?”

Alex sighs. “I mean, I would love that. We get along decently enough, and we work well together. I just don’t want it to—“

“To come down to us,” Henry finishes for him. “I know, I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“The odds are slim, but what happens when we’re the only two left?”

Henry sighs. “I think Twelve has gone hungry long enough, don’t you?”

_Oh_. Alex hadn’t been expecting him to say that. He doesn’t like that. Not one bit. 

He falls quiet, takes a moment to process this statement, and speaks up again. “We’ll have to split up before then.”

Henry looks sober. “If that’s what you want, then that can be our arrangement.”

Alex nods. “That works for me.”

They drop the conversation, and continue to go through the station. Alex is standing in front of a large screen and touchpad, quizzing himself on the various deadly plants that he might encounter in the arena. He feels a strong hand on his back, and turns around. 

Henry’s back to warm and gentle, smiling softly. “You’ve got a shadow,” He tells Alex, jerking his head towards a nearby metal beam. 

The boy from Eleven is standing behind it. He looks tired and shy, his little hand pressed into the side of the beam. There’s fear in his eyes; he’s horrified of Alex. 

“Hi,” Alex says, waving at him and smiling, feeling his chest tighten as the boy runs off and out of sight. 

“His name’s Bay,” Henry tells him. “And he’s a bigger adversary than most expect him to be. Stole the boy from One’s knife and hid in the netting of the ceiling with it until they escorted the boy from One out for causing a scene.”

Alex hums. As heartless as it sounds, he hopes Bay’s one of the first to go. There’s only a five-year difference between the two of them, but the thought of a young child in pain gives him the most terrible, heartbreaking feeling. 

At the end of the third day, Henry stays behind with him in the waiting room to see the judges. Alex doesn’t know why he felt the need to do so, but he appreciates it. 

“How did it go for you?” He asks, leg bouncing as he slowly rocks back and forth, trying to dispel his nervous energy in whatever way he can.

“They were all up in their seating area. I tried to get their attention, but they were all half-drunk and too busy with their appetizers to properly watch me, apparently.” Henry scoffs. “I chucked around some spears and threw some medicine balls until I was told to go. And now, I’m here with you.”

“I’m gonna fuck up,” Alex states, no room for input on his declaration. “I’m gonna fuck up so bad.”

“You’re going to blow them all away,” Henry argues, placing a hand on Alex’s bouncing leg. Alex calms at this, and stops moving around so much. “It’s alright to be nervous— I certainly was. Just give it your all. I know you’ll do wonderfully.”

Alex hears his name called out from the overhead speaker, and he feels his heart leap into his throat. Henry finds his hand, grabs it, and squeezes it.

“You’ll be alright, Twelve,” He coaxes. “Get in there and knock ‘em dead, yeah?”

Alexander lets out a half-hysterical laugh, nods, and stands up. “Yeah.” He shakes the tingling sensation out of his hands, and walks into the gymnasium.   
  


True to Henry’s words, the Gamemakers are all tired of watching tributes present their skills. Some have had too much wine, others have had too much whiskey, and all of them are chatting amongst themselves. The fact that he’s being blatantly ignored is agitating him.

“Alexander Claremont-Diaz,” He introduces himself, shocked by just how loudly his voice is projected throughout the room. “District Twelve.”

That seems to have momentarily caught their attention. He quickly scans the room, plucking a bow off a rack, shifting an arrow from his left to his right hand. He shuts his bad eye, lifts the bow into position, and pulls the arrow back. He doesn’t like the feel of this bow; it hasn’t been worn in yet, and the bowstring is far too tight. He’s shaking so bad that the arrow slips from his fingers, and he misses the target. He hears the Gamemakers laughing at him, and it makes him see red. In a fit of anger, he shoots three times more, hitting every bullseye on the display dummy. He turns to the Gamemakers; none of them are paying attention to him, all of them fussing and singing praises over a roasted pig, a ruby red apple stuffed in its mouth. 

And well, that does it for Alexander. His life depends on a fucking number that they’re going to assign them, and they’re all paying attention to a fucking dead pig. He stomps over to the display rack, grabs an arrow, takes aim, and fires. His arrow whirs past several people’s heads, lodging in the apple, knocking it out of the pig’s mouth and pinning it to the wall with a satisfying crunch sound.   
  


They all gasp, and turn to face him, gazing down on him in complete shock and horror.

He glares up at them, but sinks into an elegant bow, his arms extended outward. 

“Thank you,” He spits, still consumed by aggravation and rage. “For your _consideration_.”

He walks over to the rack, slams the bow down and storms out of the room.

It’s only when he gets back to the waiting room with Henry that he realizes what he’s done, and he starts shaking so hard that his legs give out beneath him. Henry grabs him before he can fall, and puts a supporting hand on his back. Alex can hear his voice, but his own ears are ringing far too loud to understand the words.

He’s just sealed his own fate; he’ll be going home in a wooden box.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ones a biggie, also tw panic attack

Alex spends the rest of the day crying in bed and trying to keep himself from having panic attacks. Henry is there with him, sitting in his bed with him, shushing him and smoothing his hair down. They’re probably breaking about ten different rules just by being on the same floor— by being in the same room with prolonged contact— but Alexander honestly doesn’t care. Not when the Gamemakers are going to punish him for what he’s done. They’ll cut out his tongue and make him an Avox. They’ll torture him in prison. They’ll hang him for treason. Out of all of these scenarios, the one that scares him most is the thought of the Capitol people going after his family. This one works him into a panic so severe that he’s nearly sick, and Henry has no other choice than to shush and rock him until his hiccups and sobs subside.   
  


Without thinking about it, Alex and Henry leave the room for dinner together. Nora shrieks when she sees Henry in the room; apparently, this is not allowed— it definitely isn’t customary. Ivy looks thoroughly unsurprised, like she’s been expecting this the whole entire time. Raf comes into the room, pauses, and looks between the two of them.

“I can work with this,” He announces, but doesn’t elaborate, sitting down at the table. He makes a grab for the wine, and pours himself a glass. “So, just how bad did the private session go?” He asks.

Alex sniffles. “What makes you think it went bad?”

Rafael gives him a no-funny-business sort of look. Henry reaches for his hand and squeezes it. It does something weird to his insides, but it also calms him down, so he decides to ignore the weirdness. He explains exactly what happened, and Nora’s the first one to speak up, clearly enraged. 

“Did you even bother to _think_ before pulling that stunt?” She asks, purple lips all tight and mean. “Do you not realize that _your_ actions reflect badly on _all_ of us? That they're going to take this out on—“

“On who?” Rafael dares to ask. “On _us?_ On _them?_ ” He gestures to Alex, Henry, and Ivy. “They’re just gonna make things difficult for him.”

“They’ve already promised to do that,” Henry points out, and it makes Rafael laugh.

“I like you,” Raf sighs, taking a sip from his glass. “What district are you from?”

“Two.” Henry says, shifting nervously in his seat.

Alex doesn’t miss the sideways glance from Raf. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but when past incidents are taken into account, he can conclude that it probably won’t be very good.   
  


“I’ll be speaking to Philip later,” Raf announces.

Henry’s face is panicked, and he flounders for something to say. “I—“

“You’re not in trouble, it’s a matter of business,” Raf interrupts, his monotone voice grating against Alexander’s ears. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner and to stay and watch the Gamemakers give out the scores.”

“Thank you,” Henry says eventually, seeming a bit confused by the offer.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Raf replies.

Alex doesn’t like what he’s implying.

He feels much better after a hearty dinner of fish soup, pork chops, buttered rolls, mashed potatoes, and a drink that takes like a sweet, watered-down wine. Nora refers to it as posca. They all head into the sitting room, and to his own surprise, Alex finds himself cozied up to Henry on the couch. They’ve known one another for less than a week, and they’ve managed to grow joined at the hip. It makes him want to scream; they’re supposed to be opponents, rivals; they are supposed to _kill_ each other. Here they are, though, acting like they’ve known each other for years. 

The scores start out with District One and end with District Twelve. They’re based on the tributes’ performances in their private sessions. A one means that you’re helpless, and a twelve— the highest that a person can score— has never been achieved before. Alex suspects that he’ll be getting a lower score as punishment for his outburst. A score low enough to make everyone come after him first, low enough to deem him as an easy target. 

Henry is the first in their little group to receive his score. It’s a ten; Alex gasps and slaps him multiple times on the arm. This makes Pez— who’s stopped in to watch the scoring with them— laugh out loud.

“Good job, Henry,” They announce, taking a sip from a glass of champagne. “You’ve scored a ten, and the trust of the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Alex snorts, rolls his eyes, and continues to watch. Persephone— the demented girl from Two— scores a nine. He doesn’t want to imagine the rage she must be feeling right now. Lots of fives and sixes this year, not that it means anything. There’s a Victor from Seven, Martha Hunt, who won when she was fifteen. She’d scored a three, and cried and screamed when anyone approached her, waiting for them to calm down before shoving them over into one of her makeshift traps and stabbing them with their own knives. Once she got her hands on an axe, it was hell to pay for everyone in that arena. Bay scores a seven, which honestly shocks him. He might make it after all.

Ivy gets an eight. It’s something that nobody was expecting. All at once, everyone’s shock morphs into cheering, jostling Ivy as she laughs, eyes bright and smile brighter. Rafael seems satisfied with her score, and so does Nora.

“We can work with that— ooh, here comes Alex!” She says, voice going up an octave as she leans closer to the screen.

“Alexander Claremont-Diaz,” The announcer reads aloud, pausing for dramatic effect. “With a score of— eleven.”

Nora and Pez scream, and Alex feels his jaw drop. He thought for sure that he would end up with a score less than five. An eleven; he can count the amount of people who have scored an eleven over the years on one hand. This is a history-defining defining moment for Twelve.

“How in the hell did you do that?” Pez asks, throughly stunned.

“I don’t know,” Alex laughs, still in shock. “I thought that they all hated me.”

“They must have liked your temper,” Raf decides, smiling. “Nice work, sweetheart.”

A bit of a whore for the dramatics, Pez rises with their glass of champagne, and lifts it above their head. 

“To Alexander Claremont-Diaz,” They declare, winking at Alex. “The boy on _fire_.”

Nora cheers, stands, and clinks their flutes of champagne together. 

Henry slips a comfortable arm around Alex’s waist. “I told you— you blew them all away.”

And well, that makes Alexander feel just a little bit funny. 

Henry is escorted back to his floor by Raf after everyone settles in for the evening, not wanting to get Henry in trouble for running off without telling Philip where he was. He’d been hesitant to see him leave, as much as he hates to admit it. Henry’s a calming energy in this damned space, the only person— only thing— capable of keeping Alex calm enough to think rationally. When Raf comes back to their floor, the grin on his face is anything but reassuring. 

“What the hell did you do?” Alex asks through a mouthful of citrus cake. 

“Something that you’ll be thanking me for very soon,” Raf answers. “We got anymore of that? Looks good.”

“I just requested the slice, you can have the rest if you want.” He offers, surprised when Rafael shakes his head. 

“You need to gain all the weight you can get,” Raf tells him. “I do want you in bed when you finish up, though. Long day of interview prep tomorrow.”

“Yessir,” He replies, shoving another forkful of cake into his mouth.

He lies in bed the next morning, and can’t help comparing Liam to Henry in his head. He’s lived down the street from Liam their entire lives. He’s known Henry for about a week. Liam hunts and swears, he sasses, and he’s dirty. Henry is artistic and quiet and clean, and Alex doesn’t even know if he knows what disrespect is. They couldn’t be anymore different, and yet, he’s inexplicably drawn to both of them, like two magnets. Gale knows what it’s like to grow up in Twelve. He knows what it’s like to be so damn hungry that it keeps you up at night. He provides for a family, just the same as Alex does. He can be trusted. As wonderful and warm as Henry is, he cannot be trusted under any circumstances. He is an adversary, an obstacle in the way of making it back to Twelve alive, and yet, Alex wants to know him. He wants to hear more stories from Two, wants to be there to see his ugliest moments. He wants to be close to Henry, and his self-preservation is hanging on by a single, rapidly fraying thread.

When he heads down to breakfast, lamb stew with dried plums over rice and a pitcher of orange juice, he’s surprised to find that Ivy isn’t there. Neither is Nora. 

“Where’re the girls?” He asks Rafael, who’s already wearing a grave expression. “Did something happen?”

“Sit down, son.” Raf advises, and slowly, hesitantly, Alex sinks down into his seat. “Ivy feels as if she is lacking in the proper skills needed to survive, and has asked to be trained privately from this moment onward.”

Alex is confused. He feels like he ought to be angry or betrayed. “Is this about the scores from last night?”

“She’s uhm, she’s been thinking about this for a couple days, now,” Raf explains. “Just made the decision today.”

“I see,” He trails off, finding that he’s experiencing quite a bit of emotional turbulence.

Throughout the day, he realizes that he’s not mad at Ivy. They had always been just a bit skeptical of each other. After the alliance with Henry, and his eleven last night, he can definitely see why she might want to be trained on her own from this moment onward. He’ll keep an eye out for her in the arena, though. Form an alliance with her when Henry kicks him to the curb or tries to kill him when he’s sleeping. Two more days. Part of him wishes that it was just public execution instead.   
  


He spends the day preparing for the interviews tomorrow. He’s taught how to sit, walk, and make gestures to the crowd. He is taught how to make himself likable. Rafael is trying personalities on Alex like they’re new outfits— aloof, charming, fierce— none of them are sticking.

“Damn, you’re absolutely hopeless,” Raf grumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“Gee, _thanks_ ,” Alex responds, voice oozing with sarcasm. 

“So damn hostile that I couldn’t pay anyone to like you.”

“I don’t want these people to like or know me, Raf,” He argues. “They all want me _dead_ , I owe them _nothing.”_

“You owe them your life,” Rafael hisses, and that does it for Alex. That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back— that’s what flips the switch in his mind. 

“They have taken _everything_ from me!” He screams, hating the way his voice breaks and rises, hating the way he cries, hating the way Rafael jumps back. “ _Everything!_ My family, my livelihood, my free will—“

“Alex, kiddo,” Raf consoles, voice suddenly much softer. “You need to calm down—“

“Do _not_ tell me to _calm down!_ ” He shrieks, smashing a plate on the floor that used to hold handfuls of berries and other fruits. “ _Get out!_ ”

“Alex, you’re having a panic attack,” Raf tells him, voice unusually gentle and soft. “You need to stop and sit down—“

“ _Leave me alone!_ ” He screams, throwing another plate, sobbing and gasping for air. 

Rafael does in fact leave, but not until he’s certain that Alex isn’t going to make any bold or brash decisions. Alexander sits in the back corner of the room, shutting his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the mess he’s made. His throat is raw, and his face is sticky with tears. He hears his door open and shut without a word. It’s the Avox girl from before. She looks concerned, but not entirely surprised. 

He immediately stands up, shaking his hands and arms to get the jittery sensation out of them. Wordlessly, they work together to tidy up the room again. This seems to surprise her; she must not get very much help. They dump the shards of glass into a waste bin, push all the furniture in the room back against the wall, and get the sheets and blankets back on the bed. 

“I’m sorry,” He eventually croaks, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “For the room, and the woods, and—“

She’s shaking her head rapidly, before she presses a hand to his forehead. She points to him, then fans herself. He’s warm. Wordlessly, she helps him into bed, and tucks him in, pulling the blankets up to his shoulders. It’s odd, how she’s so willing to care for him in his final moments when he did nothing to save her in what he thought would be her end. 

“Goodbye,” He whispers to her on the way out.

She gives him a sad smile, turns off the light, then shuts the door.

The following night, Alex is pacing back and forth in an empty room, stealing glances at himself and then cursing his reflection. He’s in a beautiful burgundy velvet suit that shines golden orange in the right lighting. Something happens when he spins, apparently, but nobody willIt fits tightly to him, and Pez has given him an undershirt tight enough to compress his chest. It makes him just a bit breathless, but he’s flat, and it looks wonderful. 

“I can’t do this,” He frets, wringing his hands and shaking them. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Pez tells him, rising up from their chair, walking over to Alex, and holding him by the shoulders. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“I don’t know what to do, or to say—“

“Shh, shh, my darling boy,” Pez coos, their warm hands framing Alex’s face, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. “You’ll get wrinkles, worrying this way.”

Alex laughs, sounding half-hysterical. “Oh no, how _tragic_.”

“It is!” Pez insists. They make sure that Alex is sound and put together, before brushing a curl out of his eyes. “You’ll be alright. Just be yourself. Talk to them like you’re talking to me.”

“But they’re _not_ you,” Alex whines miserably.

“I’ll be in the front row,” Pez promises. “If you feel yourself panicking, just look at me. You’re okay.”

“Okay,” Alex replies, arms wrapped tightly around Pez. He hates this. “Okay.”

  
Alex has always hated the way they do interviews. On even-numbered years, the interviews start with Twelve and end with One. On odd-numbered years, they start with One and end with Twelve. This year happens to be an even year; another stroke of Alex’s oh-so wonderful luck. Leto Lynch has been hosting for just over ten years now, and he’s a bit of a social icon in Panem. Alex remembers being nine years old and watching the interviews. Leto had chosen to wear an ensemble of crimson red, and his artificially-dyed hair made him appear as if his scalp was bleeding. Leto’s always been good at helping tributes through their interviews. He finds what they’re good at, and he exploits that. Sexy, clever, funny— he takes the answer to the first question, and he goes from there. 

Ivy goes first, with her feathered curls, and her orange-red off the shoulder gown, and they have an interpreter speak for her. She oozes charm and class, and wit. She was made to be on television. At the end of her interview, she pecks Leto on her cheek, and Alex chuckles. Someone, a stage worker, leads him up the steps, letting him linger right behind the stage. 

“Next up, we have Alex Claremont-Diaz, the boy on fire!” Leto shouts, and everyone cheers. Alex steps on stage, and puts on his best smile, despite the initial feeling of dying. He makes his way across the stage, shakes Leto’s hand, and sits in the chair across from him. Leto asks him a question, but he’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear it.

“Excuse me?” He asks, timid, feeling his blood boil beneath his skin as the crowd laughs.   
  


Leto chuckles. “It seems that someone’s a bit nervous. How are you enjoying the Capitol so far?” He asks, and Alex takes a moment to ponder.

“It’s been fun,” Alex decides, his voice soft and his faux-sweet smile plastered on his face as he lies. “Between all the food, and color, and sounds, it’s a beautiful place with so much to offer. I really don’t think I’ll ever forget this experience.” The crowd likes this answer, apparently, making soft ‘ _aww_ ’ noises. 

“Well, we’re certainly glad that you’ve been enjoying things here,” Leto replies, tenor voice honeyed and warm. “Why don’t you tell us about life back in Twelve? What was your home life like?”

Alex really has to think about this question, sure not to misstep and say something unsavory. “Life back in Twelve was simple, but not unhappy. We made do with what we had, and spent all our time together. Some of my best moments are of my family and my neighbors all sitting around the table for a home cooked meal.”

Leto hums. “I bet that’s one of the things you miss about Twelve.”

Alex nods. “Oh, definitely. Don’t get me wrong, the food here is amazing, but nothing compares to what my stepdad Leo can do with a spatula. The man’s got a gift.” He replies, laughing when the crowd does.

Leto laughs as well. “We’ll have to check in on him soon. You received a score of eleven— can you tell us how you did it?”

Alex looks at the Gamemakers, all of them sat in the front row with Pez. They’re all shaking their heads. “I don’t think I can say,” He says, sounding apologetic as the crowd groans.

“What a shame,” Leto sighs. “Onto something a bit heavier— we all saw the footage of your sister, June.”

Alex’s heart twinges at the mention of her name. His face goes serious, and he gives a curt nod.

“She was willing to bargain anything— even the lives of others— to save your own.”

He swallows down his tears. “Yes, she was.”

“Did she come to see you?” Leto asks.

“She did,” Alex confirms. 

“What did you tell her?”

Alex can feel his heart shattering into a million pieces. “I promised her that I would do whatever it takes to come home to her, and I told her that I loved her.”

More noises of sympathy. Leto reaches forward and squeezes his hands. “I’m sure that you’ll give it your all.”

“I’ll certainly try,” He replies.

“As for your outfit— it’s stunning.” Leto tells him.

“Thank you, my designer Pez really knows how to clean up a hot mess like me.” The crowd and Leto laugh, and a spotlight is put on Pez, who’s waving and nodding. 

“Are there flames to accompany this outfit?” Leto asks, merely joking.

Alex looks to Pez, who makes a twirling motion with his fingers. He looks back to Leto and nods, grinning.

“I’m wearing them right now,” He says, faux-excited tone to his voice. “Would you like to see them?”

“Absolutely!” Leto exclaims, and Alex rises, hoisting himself out of his chair. 

He inhales, exhales, and begins to spin, he hears people gasp and scream and cheer as he is engulfed in fake flames, and he laughs out loud; it’s genuine, and he certainly wasn’t expecting it. Eventually, when he stops, he stumbles, and Leto catches him by the waist, letting out a bark of laughter. 

“Don’t need you to fall,” Leto teases.

“On live television? That would be awful,” Alex declares, and the crowd laughs.

A buzzer goes off, indicating the end of the interview, and Leto stands, grabbing Alex’s hand in his and lifting it into the air, shaking it.

“Let’s give it up for Alexander Claremont-Diaz, the boy on fire!” He shouts, and the crowd is so loud that it makes Alex’s legs shake as he’s lead backstage. 

“Good job, sweetheart,” Raf congratulates, clapping Alex on the shoulder. “You might just make it outta there.”

“Thanks,” Alex breathes, laughing as Nora sings her endless praises about his etiquette and poise. “Where’s Ivy?” He eventually says.

“Went to get some last-minute training in.” Raf chuckles. “Go ahead and go sit down, I’m sure you’re going to want to see Henry’s interview.”

Alex nods, finds the closest seat, and sits down, finally able to breathe. 

It’s interesting, seeing all the different ways his fellow tributes portray themselves. Bay is showing people exactly what he is; a baby. He uses his manners, smiles and laughs, and milks the sympathy of Capitol for all it’s worth. The girl from his district— Daisy— is aloof and distant. Only answering questions with a simple yes or no. There’s a half-deaf boy from Eight, and a girl from Three with a lame leg. The fact that nobody volunteered for them is disgraceful. They’ll be dead on day one. Persephone stays true to herself— an absolute murdering machine. She makes Leto nervous, but the crowd is laughing and cheering. Through the complete disregard for human life, she has won them over.

Henry makes his entrance on stage, and his midnight blue suit knocks the wind out of Alex. That, and the fresh bruise covering his right eye. Philip. Leto asks if he got into a tussle with another tribute. Henry says he’ll never tell. Henry does exceptionally well, playing the role of the golden boy with a dangerous edge. Everyone eats him up. Towards the end of the interview, Leto asks him a personal question.

“Anybody special back at home?” 

Henry chuckles, shaking his head. “No, nobody at home.”

“Oh, come now,” Leto teases. “No boy or girl’s caught your eye?”

“Well, there’s one boy,” Henry admits, and the crowd gasps. “But he didn’t really notice me until after I came to the Capitol.”

“He’s been sending you letters?” Leto assumes.

“No, we’ve actually been spending quite a bit of quality time together.” Henry responds, and Alex furrows his brows. 

Leto appears confused as well. “Is he here with us?”

“Well, he was earlier, but I’m not so sure now.”

“Can you give us a name?” Leto asks, smiling mischievously. “Perhaps we can find him with the time we have left.”

“His name’s Alexander, and I do believe you remember him from earlier in the night.” Henry confesses.

Alex can’t help the gasp that rips through his chest. Several emotions course through him; deception, confusion, anger, and something he doesn’t even have a name for. He knows one thing, and one thing only.

He needs to speak to Henry. Now.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arena time woo woo

The longer Alex waits, the more he seethes and scowls and fumes. He’s just been made to be a fool, like some dainty little plaything. When Henry gets off stage and goes around the back, he makes a beeline for the elevator. Alex goes racing after him, slides in just as the doors are about to close, and slams his hand on the button for the twelfth floor. They stare each other down. Henry has a healthy dose of fear in his and eyes, and Alex knows that his rage is damn near tangible at this point. The door slides open, and Alex storms out. Henry, hesitant, follows suit, tumbling into an urn and falling when Alex shoves him, hands cut up by shards of glass.

“What the _hell_ was that about?” He bellows, breathing heavily, hearing the commotion of Raf, Pez and Nora all coming up the stairs at once. “Telling the whole damn world you have a _crush_ on me, _God_ , I could just—“

“Get the hell away from him!” Rafael shouts, handling Alex while Nora and Pez help Henry up and tend to his wounds.

“He made me look _weak!_ ” Alex spits, trembling with unbridled fury.

“He made you look _desirable_ ,” Raf replies, pointing his finger in Alex’s face. “Which, need I remind you, is a damn hard thing to do.”

Alex goes silent, and Rafael continues.

“For the sake of your survival, you’re going to act like ditzy little star-crossed lovers who can’t _stand_ being apart.”

“We are _not_ star-crossed lovers,” Alex growls.

“It doesn’t fucking _matter_ ,” Raf tells him. “The entire goddamn Capitol is talking about you. What that boy did for you just bought you more sponsors than I could _dream_ of getting you. Get your head out of your ass, and learn how to be _grateful_.”

Henry’s sitting on the couch, his hands clean and properly bandaged. Christ, what was Alex thinking? He already had to deal with Philip, and now Alex has injured him further. Because of him, Henry is starting with a disadvantage. He tries to move closer, swatting gently at Rafael’s hand when he grabs him by the collar and pulls him back. He makes his way over to the couch, sitting down beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes. It sounds half-assed, so he continues. “I had absolutely no right to do that, and I understand if you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you,” Henry murmurs, resting his head on Alexander’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. “If I were you, I’d be pretty upset myself.”

Alex’s fingers card through Henry’s hair as he takes in his words. Despite being upset, he still had no need whatsoever to lash out like that, to push Henry hard enough to make him fall over. He had no reason to hurt him. He has to do something in return, he feels wrong knowing that he’s hurt him this way. That’s when it dawns on him; he has to put on the lover’s act and keep Henry alive. That will be his repayment. 

Henry buries his face in Alex’s shoulder, and Raf laughs.

“For someone who was just spittin’ in my face about looking vulnerable, you’re certainly taking to the lovesick idiot role.”

“Fuck off,” Alex scoffs, calming down as the vibrations from Henry’s laughter tickles his neck. 

That night, Alex, Henry, and Ivy all say goodbye to Nora and Raf as they head off to the Games Headquarters. Nora hugs and kisses them all, giving them her love and wishing them all luck. On the way out the door, Raf has a few final bits of advice. 

“Stay away from the Cornucopia at all costs, it’s an absolute bloodbath,” He tells them. “And you’ve gotta put as much distance between yourselves and other tributes as possible. Finding a safe, clean water source should be your main priority.” He takes a deep breath, and turns to Ivy. “Remember what we went over, flight before fight. And as for you two,” He finishes, turning to Alex and Henry. “Try your hardest to make the story believable.”

Alex nods, feeling Henry reach down and squeeze his hand. “We will. Raf, if I don’t come back—“

“Don’t start that shit—”

“I’m serious,” Alex stammers, and Henry’s grasp on his hand transforms into a strong arm around his waist. “If I don’t come back, will you take care of Oscar for me? He’s uhm,” He breathes deeply, trying to keep the floodgates from bursting open. “He’s half deaf, and he’s got miner’s lung. He can’t make it on his own.”

Raf’s eyes are shining with tears, and he gives Alex a curt nod. “Yeah, son. I’ll watch him if you get held up.”

Alex laughs, wetness rolling down his face. “Goodbye, Raf.”

Raf doesn’t smile— his facial expression doesn’t even change. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

He steps into the elevator, and with that, Rafael and Nora are gone. 

“I can’t sleep,” Alex whispers to Henry. Philip had been so angry with Henry for staying on their floor for dinner, that he told him he might as well stay there. After hearing this, Alex had been more than willing to let him stay the night. 

Henry rolls from one side to the other, now properly facing Alex. “You can’t sleep?” Henry echoes, smiling softly. “Well, that just won’t do.”

Alex presses his pillow over his face, and lets out a half-hearted groan. Henry gently moves Alex’s hand, and moves the pillow away from his face. “I’m not ready for tomorrow,” Alex announces, not expecting any sort of dignified response.

Henry hums, cupping Alex’s face with one hand. “Tell me about it. Maybe we’ll be able to work out what’s troubling you.”

Alex sighs. “I just don’t know what to expect, you know? You’re forced to watch it on television, but you never expect to be experiencing it yourself. Sometimes it lasts three days, other times it lasts three weeks. We have no idea what our weapons or our terrain will consist of, and I know that’s the point, but it’s freaking me out.”

“I understand that, but in a way, I sort of like that we’re going on blind.” Henry admits.

Alex furrows his brows. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, I spent all of my time training with you,” Henry reminds him. “I know how to do things that apply to multiple different terrains. Those stupid Careers decided that learning combat was more than enough to get them through the Games, and it bothers me.”

Alex feels himself lighten up a bit like that. “I guess I can only hope that things will turn out the way I want.”

“Hope,” Henry muses. “Such a powerful thing.”

“It is,” Alex agrees.

They lay there like that for a moment, and Alexander watches as Henry’s face slowly fall; it’s his turn to be the empathetic one. 

“Do you need to talk about anything?” He asks, and Henry sighs. 

“I mean, yes, I just don’t want to foist anything upon you.”

Alex snorts. “Sweetheart, I’ve had real issues foisted upon me my entire life,” He says softly, brushing a thumb beneath Henry’s bottom lip. “Stop biting, that’s how they get all chapped and painful.”

“Sorry,” Henry replies, releasing his bottom lip from his teeth.

“‘S okay, go ahead.”

“I’m worried that the Games are going to turn me into something I’m not,” Henry admits, face progressively growing more worried as he speaks. “I mean, I’ve seen how it’s changed my dad and my mum. I’ve seen how it’s changed Bea and Pip. I know who I am, Alex. I’m sure of myself, and I know who I am. I know who I want to be one day. I don’t want— I don’t want the Games to kill that person and leave me standing here, you know.”

Alex’s heart feels very, very heavy. “I know,” He replies. He pushes Henry’s hair away from his forehead, and presses a kiss to it; friendly, reassuring. “I’ll keep you safe and remind you as long as I’m able. As long as you’ll let me.”

“Promise?” Henry asks, voice wobbling.

“Promise,” Alex swears, beckoning Henry closer. “C’mere.”

They huddle close, and Henry buries his head in Alex’s chest. It’s less uncomfortable than he thought it would be. He rubs his hand down Henry’s back until he hears him snoring, and then falls asleep himself. 

When he wakes up, Henry is gone, and there’s a note on the beside table. ‘ _See you soon._ ’ with a heart— it makes Alex laugh. He’s already trying to sell the lovers story. Alex certainly hopes that he’ll see him soon.   
  


Pez comes to fetch him from his room, and together, they take a hovercraft to the arena location. It’s destined to become quite the tourist hot-spot when the Games are over. People will take extensive tours, gasp and guffaw when they find the spots where their favorite tributes died. There will be a fair share of re-enactors, mimicking the slaughter of children for the sake of entertainment. The thought of it makes his stomach churn. His tracker is injected under his skin on the ride over. It’s uncomfortable, and feels strange going in, but it’s definitely not the worst sensation he’s ever experienced. 

When they land, Pez takes him to the Launch Room. He remembers what they called it in Twelve; the Stockyard. He certainly feels like he’s entering the slaughterhouse right now. He’s so stressed that he can’t help laughing at the thought. Pez throws him a funny look, and he instantly stops.

“Sorry,” He apologizes. “I’m nervous, and I’ve been trying to think of funny, kinder things to lighten the mood.”

Pez makes a noise of empathy. “I understand, dear. I’d be nervous myself, if I were you.”

“Psh,” Alex replies, chuckling. “What’re you talkin’ about? You'd win in less than a week.”

Pez laughs, soft and sweet. “You think far too highly of me. Come over here and get dressed.”

Alex is placed in tawny trousers, a light green shirt, a sturdy, padded brown belt, and a thin, hooded jacket that falls over his thighs.

“Expect some chilly nights.” Pez tells him, and he nods, stealing back into his mind, taking deep breaths and continually counting backwards from ten to one. 

His socks are skin tight, and he’s actually been given boots to wear over them. They’re made of a softer leather, and have a narrow, flexible rubber sole. His only wish is that he had been given time to break them in a bit first. Pez lets him walk back and forth for a while in an attempt to do so. 

Pez gives Alex a cup of water, and some strange medication. He doesn’t question it, taking the medication and downing the water as they brush out and style his curls. They feed him two warm, buttered biscuits, and make him drink another glass of water. The medication seems to kick in, Alex feels completely relaxed.

“Did you just drug me?” Alex asks on the way out of the bathroom.   
  


Pez laughs. “It’s just to ease your anxiety and help you concentrate. It shouldn’t have any adverse effects.”

Alex nods, and he feels his heart drop to his stomach when they’re given a three minute warning from the overhead speakers. Pez helps him up from where he’s just sat down, and from their pocket materializes June’s golden mockingjay pin. They pin it in place over Alex’s heart, and zips up their jacket. Holding their index finger up to their lips.

“Our little secret, okay darling?”

Alex nods, holding onto Pez’s arms to keep himself steady. The medication doesn’t seem to be working in the way it’s meant to; he’s still anxious, but it feels foggy, and he is painfully alert when it comes to his surroundings. 

“I’m not allowed to place bets,” Pez tells him, their sequin smile much sadder than he remembers it being in the past. “But if I could, I’d bet on you.”

They’re given a one minute warning, and Alex starts shaking. Pez hugs him tight, swaying with him from side to side.

“I love you,” Alex tells them.

“I love you, too.” Pez replies.

He’s lead over to the tube, steps in, and it closes, descending upon him and covering him from all sides. Pez presses a kiss to their hand and presses it to the glass. Alex smiles and does the same. 

The cylinder carries Alexander up into the arena, and he panics, looking around, but making his body completely rigid; there are mines all around them, and one’s beneath the plate he’s currently standing on. If he steps off before the siren goes off, he’ll either lose a leg, or be blown to bits. It’s happened to tributes before in the past. 

Upon looking around, he realizes that he’s been fucking blessed; the arena consists of a wooded forest and a vast mountain range; the woods behind the electric fence in Twelve. 

“ _Greetings, tributes_ ,” Mike Holleran, Head Gamemaker, and Nora’s grandfather announces from some large, invisible speaker. “ _And welcome, to the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games_.”


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this point forward, you can expect descriptions of violence, brief mentions of death, and mentions of various bodily fluids. If you find any of this to be distressing, this may be your time to stop reading.
> 
> Aside from that, enjoy chapter nine!!

Alex and the other tributes stand in a ring around the Cornucopia, and have been given sixty seconds to get used to their surroundings before the siren goes off. He finds himself stealing glances at the surrounding scenery; he needs to make a beeline for the woods as soon as possible. That’ll keep him safe. That’ll keep him alive. He’s still frightened about shifting too much— he doesn’t want to risk triggering the landline. He’d rather not be the first casualty of the Games, thank you very much. He remembers what Rafael had told him about the Cornucopia, to stay away from it, that it was a bloodbath and that charging into it would only end up with him dead. Looking further inside it, though, he sees a tent and a bow and arrow, and is already trying to formulate a plan to get to it before anybody else can.

As his thoughts bounce back and forth in his mind, Henry catches his eye. They lock eyes for a moment, and Alex realizes just how far away they’ve been placed from one another. It almost feels like some sort of punishment. He can’t see too well from where he’s stood— he left his glasses back in Twelve— but Henry appears to be shaking his head. Telling him to lay low, telling him to get the bare necessities and fucking _run_. 

Whilst they’re busy ogling at one another, the siren goes off. Alex panics, hesitating, then takes off sprinting in the general direction of the Cornucopia. He only runs a bit of the way in, grabbing a sheet of plastic— good for protecting himself and his food from rain, dirt, and the like. He also grabs a loaf of bread; it’s a small loaf, but it’s enough to last him two weeks if he spaces his meals out properly and doesn’t get too greedy. 

He sees a small orange backpack out of the corner of his eye, and makes a run for it. Just as he goes to grab it, the boy from Nine shoves him out of the way in an attempt to make a grab for it. They fight for it, and just as Alex punches the boy in the face, he seizes up, coughs a mouthful blood up onto Alex’s neck and shirt, and keels over. Alex searches around frantically, until he finds Persephone charging up towards him, another knife poised over her head. He takes off sprinting, hoisting the bag up over his head to protect himself. He hears a soft slicing, thudding sound. Once he gets about two kilometers into the woods, he pulls it down to check. Persephone’s gifted him with a lovely knife with a long, serrated blade; she has just gifted him with his only weapon. He rips it out of the pack, and starts walking, beginning to sprint again when he hears the shuffling of leaves. 

Alex doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s suddenly talking a tumble down a rather steep hill. He must have tripped over himself when he was running, or must have gotten too close to the edge. Needless to say, the fall knocks the wind out of him, has him gasping and wheezing for air. He lays there for a while, catching his breath and grasping his bearings. When he stands up, Ivy is roughly ten feet in front of him. Her expression goes from concerned to wide-eyed and terrified, and she takes off sprinting so quickly that Alex can’t even fathom going after her. He turns around quickly, expecting someone to be there; he sees nobody. He checks himself on all sides— nobody is there. He looks down at the knife, still clenched tightly in his hand, and then comes to a realization when he touches the boy’s sticky blood on his neck. Ivy had been running from him. Hopefully, this won’t be the last time that they’ll see each other. He wants a chance to explain what happened to her.   
  


He dedicates the majority of his day to putting as much space between himself and the other tributes as possible. The woods have always calmed Alexander— if he wasn’t on near constant alert, this might feel like camping out in the woods behind the house, picking off large game and setting up snares and traps for the smaller creatures he runs into. He’s never spent more than a few hours out in the woods, so this will be a true test of his abilities. Finding water is also high on his list of priorities; a person can only survive without water for about three days on average, so he needs to find water. Soon. 

Later in the afternoon, the canons start to go off. They ring out aloud, and he silently counts along with them. Eleven have already died, which, including him, leaves thirteen more tributes in the Games. His heart leaps into his throat when he realizes that Henry could very well be dead already. He shakes the thought away. Henry is strong. Henry is smart. He is a Career, and he promised to see Alex soon; Alex has the note in his pocket to prove it. As much as he wants to see him, Alexander figures that it might be better this way, with Henry already dead. If it’s over with for him, they won’t have to face one another later on. Nevertheless, the faces of the dead tributes will be shown later in the night, projected into the starry sky for everyone else to see. 

He finds himself taking stock of what’s in his pack once he feels as if he’s put enough distance between himself and the others. He starts by separating food from other essential supplies. A pack of crackers and a pack of beef strips go in a pile with his bread. In a separate pile, he has a bottle of iodine, a box of wooden matches, an empty black water bottle, and a pair of sunglasses. He puts the sunglasses on, and looks up towards the sun, groaning in pain. Just his luck; they don’t work worth a damn when it comes to effectively blocking out the sun. Above all, he thinks his prized possession might be his thin black sleeping bag, which will come in handy especially when taking what Pez had said into account about cold nights. 

He puts the bigger survival items and the plastic sheet in the bottom of the knapsack, and places his food items on top. Upon zipping it shut, he realizes that the neon orange color of the bag would most certainly give his location away. He feels around for the most damp soil he can find, compacts it, and smears it over the back of his backpack. It takes several minutes to do, but eventually, the entire thing has been coated in a thin layer of mud. 

The plants and wildlife of the arena are quite reminiscent of what one might find in Twelve. Black soil and pine trees, wild rabbits and small birds and lizards— he’s worried that he might lose his sense of self-preservation if he continues on this way. It’s absolutely eerie, how similar this place is to Twelve. Too similar. He wonders if Liam is watching, and if he’s just as shocked as Alex is right now. 

Night comes, and Alexander still hasn’t found a valuable water source. That gives him tomorrow to find it, lest he wants his organs to shut down. He picks a decently-sized tree, and makes his way up a distance that’s safe enough to keep him out of harm’s way, but will surely result in a bloody nose or a busted wrist if he falls. He makes sure that he finds a branch that’s big and sturdy enough, before shuffling down into it, belting himself down so he doesn’t fall out of the tree, fishing his food and sleeping back out of his pack. He treats himself to a beef strip and a slice of bread, before tucking his food away and pulling his sleeping bag over his legs and all the way up to his waist. 

Within half an hour, the death cast begins to play, starting with Panem’s official seal and national anthem. Pictures of dead children flash across the hologram in the sky, and much to his shock, Henry is, in fact, still alive. He’s not exactly sure why this is shocking to him, but it’s not necessarily a negative sort of shock. If anything, he finds it comforting. Alex unzips his jacket, reached into his interior pocket, and pulls out the note from Henry. See you soon, it says. He hopes they both live long enough for that to happen. He would love to see Henry again. After tucking the note back into his pocket and zipping his jacket back up, Alex finds himself dozing off.

  
  


Alex wakes up to the sound of twigs snapping and it damn near makes him have a heart attack. Someone is close. Too close. He has to remind himself to breathe, that people are watching and that they aren’t going to sponsor him or give him what he needs if they him having a fucking panic attack over snapping twigs. He takes a few deep breaths, and looks around, seeing wisps of silver smoke blooming up a couple hundred feet away. He groans, burying his face in his hands. His dumbass neighbor is going to get them both killed by starting a damn fire in the middle of the night. Wonderful, just wonderful. 

He hears a girl shouting, and it quickly morphs into shrieking, crying, and loud, raucous laughter. A canon doesn’t go off, but he hears approaching footsteps, and his whole body goes stiff. Soon enough, a pack of Career tributes makes their way out of the woods, laughing and mocking the girl’s cries. The blondes from One, the inept, bullheaded tributes from Four, and Persephone are all walking together, playfully bumping into one another and laughing.

The boy from One, Alex believes his name is Hunter, suddenly stops, looking fed up and impatient, swinging his sword around. 

“Sometime today, lover boy!” Hunter calls out.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice replies, and when Alex sees who it is, he nearly falls out of the tree.

They have Henry. _His_ Henry. It looks like they’ve hurt him pretty badly, too. His face is swollen, and his arm is bandaged up. He wants to go down there and give them all a piece of his mind, but he values his life, so he sits in silence, and he watches. They seem to be using him to carry their things around— he’s not handling any weapons, only the packs of the other male tributes. He thinks back to when Henry told him no, told Alex to stay away from the Cornucopia and run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. A bit hypocritical of him to do exactly that and wind up forming an alliance with the very people he called deranged, the very people that he hold Alexander he couldn’t stand. He can understand his temptation to get the best supplies, but he can’t understand where he’s benefiting when it comes to this damned alliance. Especially after the talk they had last night. If Henry doesn’t want to end up as something he’s not, then why in the hell is he doing this? Perhaps that was all a deceitful game that Henry was playing with him. Perhaps this was his plan all along.

Hunter reaches into the pocket of his jacket, and tosses Henry a large, horrifying-looking knife. Alex cringes and looks away, but Henry catches it without injuring himself any further. 

“Go back and slit her throat,” Hunter orders. “She’s not dying fast enough, and I don’t want to give her a chance of recovery.”

The girl from Hunter’s district— Ruby, Alex believes— grabs ahold of Hunter’s hand. It makes Alex want to vomit. 

“I’m on it,” Henry replies, and just like that, he’s trekking back into the woods and out of Alexander’s line of sight. 

“We should just kill him,” Persephone tells Hunter, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s weighing the rest of us down; he’s of no use to any of us.”

Hunter shifts his sword from his right to his left hand, shaking Ruby’s hand out of his. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it.” He admits, rolling his neck and shoulders. 

The boy from Four speaks up. “Lover boy’s our only way to get to Twelve, though. If anyone knows where he is, or how he got that eleven, it’s gonna be him.”

Oh. They’re using Henry as bait to get to him. How cute. If only they knew that Alex is right above their heads right now. He can only imagine how the shock would be. This also brings something to light; they don’t know how good Alex is with a bow and arrow. Henry hasn’t told them anything.

“You’re right,” Hunter relents, sounding put out. “As soon as we get that out of him though, I’m gutting him like a fuckin’ fish.”

Persephone laughs, and so do the rest of the Careers shortly after. The sound of it makes Alex nauseous. The canon suddenly sounds; Henry has killed her. He has just become the one thing that he swore up and down he wouldn’t. He re-emerges, seemingly unfazed, until Alex sees his eyes. There’s hurt in those eyes, something that’s painful and wild in them. 

“Where do you think he went?” Hunter asks. 

Henry whistles, looking around, catches Alex’s eye, and casually looks forward.

“Further this direction,” Henry lies, pointing ahead of them. “I remember him telling me last night that he wanted to put as distance between him and the rest of us as possible.”

Hunter raises a brow. “You met up with him last night?”

Henry momentarily panics, floundering for an answer. 

Hunter lets out a shocked laugh. “Well damn, guess you really _are_ a lover boy, huh?”

“It’s not like that—“ Henry insists, and God, this whole interaction has Alex scrubbing over his face. It reminds him of jokes he’d make with Liam when they were alone together, but in the worst possible way.   
  


“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Hunter replies, shoving Henry forward. “Let’s move out. With any luck, we’ll find him tonight.”

And just like that, Henry has disappeared from his life yet again. For the sake of the cameras and any potential sponsors, he keeps calm. As far as anyone knows, he and Henry are in on this together. He goes as far as to smile at the camera in a hole in the tree before falling asleep again. 

The next day, Alex continues his desperate search for water. One of the traps he had set the day before has captured a rabbit, so he kills and cooks it after a half-assed fire, putting it out and saving the scraps for later in the day. Whilst he’s walking around, he finds berries on a bush that bear a close resemblance to blueberries. He cuts one open with his knife, and it looks wrong, so he cuts a few more open. After determining that they are not, in fact, blueberries, he moves onward. 

He feels himself becoming weaker, and the only urine he’s able to pass is murky, and so dark that it’s nearly brown. He’s in pain, he’s tired, and his bladder is spasming. He needs water. Now. He remembers that Rafael is in charge of his sponsors, and decides to try his hand at openly asking for water. He waits a few moments, and receives no response. Disgruntled, he moves onward on his little quest. He briefly thinks that Rafael is angry with him, and this is his attempt at a punishment. He then remembers how close they were before the Games, and decides that Rafael wouldn’t do that to him. Instead, he takes it as motivation; no response means that water is close by. 

He keeps walking until his legs buckle beneath him, and he face-plants into some mud. Half-delirious, he can’t help but think that this would be a nice, quiet place to die. It’s not too bright, and the mud is keeping him from getting too hot. It suddenly clicks into place for Alexander; mud means water. He brushes off the wet dirt on his pack, and coats it in proper mud, then rises following the mud as it gets more slippery and watery. He falls a few times, but he’s so excited by the aspect of water that he doesn’t care.

Crawling through the last little stretch of water, he finds a pond filled with water lilies, he ditches his bag, and eases himself down into the water, groaning pleasantly. He washes his hair and his hands and face, soaking his weary muscles and ridding his skin of scum and dried blood. Once he feels like he’s cleaned himself long enough, he grabs his water bottle out of his pack, scooping in as much water as it can hold. He mixes in a couple drops of iodine to purify it, waits thirty minutes, and drinks it. He repeats this process twice. 

When nighttime comes, Alex straps himself into a tree, eating a slice of bread and a beef strip before washing it down with a mouthful of water. He plans on staying close to the pond tomorrow. He needs to drink more, and rest to regain his strength. He falls asleep soon after eating, feeling more assured in his abilities to make it through this. 

The next morning, before dawn, he awakens to stampeding feet, shouts of horror, and a blazing, terrifying wall of all-consuming fire.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at it with chapter ten

“ _Fuck!_ ” Alex shouts, scrambling to unbelt himself and jump down from the tree. He sprains his ankle, and it hurts like a bitch, but he takes of running anyways, sprinting so fast that he feels like he’s tripping over himself. For a few kilometers, he’s able to keep up with the animals that are vacating the area, but eventually the fumes from the smoke get to him so terribly that he has to find a safe, well-hidden place to vomit. It doesn’t really make him feel any better, but he gets it out of his system. Within five minutes, he’s back to running at top speed, occasionally stealing glances back at the wall of flames behind him. He can tell that those are man-made flames; it’s burning far too quickly to be a natural fire. The Gamemakers are deciding to spice things up for the people watching from the comfort of their living room in the Capitol. It’s then that Alexander realizes that they could kill him at any moment; they’ve been known to kill tributes in the past for no other purpose than to keep things interesting.   
  
  


Eventually, he’s able to outrun the fire, and for a brief moment, all is calm, and all is quiet. He’s in the middle of catching his breath when he hears a whooshing, cackling sound. He whips around, and sees a massive fireball being launched in his direction. He dives out of the way to avoid being burned to death, and takes off running. Apparently, he could have been a bit more careful; one has burned his right thigh and set fire to his trousers. He panics, putting out the fire with his hands as he continues to run. Even he can see the irony in it; the boy on fire has narrowly escaped being burned to death. 

He happens upon a spring-fed pool of water, and dives in, bag and all, letting out a hoarse cry of pain when the water touches his hands and his leg. Alex has always hated burns; in his opinion, they’re the worst type of injury a person can have. He’s always hated how they, look, how they feel— he lifts his hands out of the water to examine them. The burns on his palms aren’t that bad; they’re red, angry, and swollen, but they aren’t the focal point of his pain right now. He looks down at his thigh, and nearly faints. His trousers are charred, and his burn is bright red and bloody. It’s not the entire expanse of his thigh, just a small portion of it, but it’s definitely enough to leave him down for the count and wallowing in his own pity. He can’t help but thinking of June in this moment. God, she hated everything that had to do with hunting and hurting animals, but she could treat the nastiest, deadliest injuries with a calmness that he’s yet to see mirrored in any other person. He remembers when Terra Rathbone’s father had gotten in a terrible accident down in the mines, and received god-awful third degree burns over his body. Their mother stood behind June, and watched her work with a medical sort of precision, standing in silence for hours as she’d treated Mister Rathbone’s injuries. Leo was like Alex— easily squeamish— and had to excuse himself to lose his lunch in private. Mister Rathbone had unfortunately ended up succumbing to his injuries, and it was only then that June had cried. She’s always been a good healer, much better than Alex ever was.

Alex feels close to tears from his pain, but very quickly realizes that, in order to keep whatever sponsors he may have, he needs to suck it up and stiffen his upper lip. He remembers the conversation between Olympia and Eros. Capitolites do not take kindly to those who whine. Pity does not get tributes any support. He continues to soak his injuries, and re-sorts his pack, drinking some of his purified water and re-filling the bottle before eating some of the roots from nearby water plants. Against his better judgement and too comfortable to move, he falls asleep. 

He wakes up about twenty minutes later to whooping cheers and approaching footsteps.

“Shit,” He swears, wading out of the water. “Shit, shit, _shit_ —“

“Hey, Alex!” Persephone shouts from a short distance away. This gets the attention of the rest of the Careers, who all start calling his name and running towards him.

“ _God fucking damn it!_ ” He swears under his breath, taking off sprinting through the forest. He runs in a zig-zag pattern so it’s harder for them to throw knives and the like in his direction. He stops, finds a sizable tree, and begins to climb it, moving as fast as he can to scale the tree. 

“Why don’t you come on down, Alex?” Hunter asks, voice a mixture of a teasing jest and a malicious threat. “Lover boy’s down here! Why don’t you come down here and give him a kiss?”

Alex stops when he gets to the nearest tree limb, swinging his leg over it with a soft grunt. He peers down, eyeing the whole pack cautiously. Ruby and Persephone are smiling like wild creatures who only come out at night to bring Hell onto Earth. The duo from Four look disinterested at best, and Hunter looks like he’s ready to come up there and get him. Henry looks worried, all concerned and apologetic. It hurts Alex. It really, really does.

“How ‘bout _you_ fuck right off?” He finds himself replying, wrapping his arms around the trunk of the tree and leaning down, spitting right into Hunter’s hair. 

Hunter lets out an animalistic noise of rage, and immediately sets about scaling the tree. Everyone except for Henry is cheering him on, encouraging Hunter to kill Alex; Persephone’s cheers are definitely the loudest. He only makes it halfway nip when a branch snaps, and Hunter is sent tumbling to the ground, groaning loudly in pain. 

Alexander watches as Ruby reaches behind her, grabbing an arrow out of her quiver. He feels like he’s being taunted, with his weapon of choice so close, yet so far away. He feels tempted to go down there and get them from her, but he holds himself in place. An arrow whirs past his head, and he shuts his eyes, gasping and flinching. When he realizes he hasn’t been hit, he opens his eyes, and laughs out loud. The Careers all look so angry. Henry looks close to tears.

“How ‘bout you throw the spear, sweetheart?” He says, singling Henry out. It seems that they trust him enough after last night to let him hold the least popular weapon. “Maybe you’ll be the one who actually gets some damage done.”

Henry glares at him, not finding his shenanigans funny. He blows a kiss in response. Alex climbs a bit higher up the tree. He’s much lighter than any of the other Careers— including Henry— and knows that none of them will be able to reach him at this height. He belts himself in, and sighs, leaning his head against the trunk of the tree.

“Let him stay up there for the night,” Henry says, loud enough for Alex to near, his voice biting and cold in a way that Alexander has never heard before. He wonders if this is part of the act or not. “He can’t stay up there forever.”

“Fine,” Hunter decides, throwing down his sword and his pack. “We’ll set up camp here for the night. Seph, Ruby, go set up some traps. You two, go get some water. I’m gonna scope the area.” He pauses, and turns to Henry. “He better come down at some point.”

“He will,” Henry replies, certainty in his tone.

“In the meantime, do us all a favor and get a fucking fire started.”

And with that, Alex and Henry are left alone together. 

“Oh, love,” Henry sighs, looking up to Alex with shining eyes. “What are we to do now?”

Alex realizes that now is the time to turn things up to eleven; they’re supposed to be madly in love with each other. “I dunno, baby,” He replies, sighing and shutting his eyes. “I’ll figure something out, promise.”

“I really hope you can live up to that promise,” Henry replies, and they both fall silent.

Later that night, Alexander is getting ready to sleep when he hears the soft sound of wind-chimes. He peers down at the Careers and Henry. They’re all asleep already. This parachute is meant for him. The sound gets louder and louder, until a silver silk parachute with a lightweight plastic case attached to it. It gets tangled in the surrounding twigs, and he snatches it, nearly falling out of the tree. He’ll open it later. 

Alex hears a different sound, now. A soft, hissing one. He looks around, trying to find the source of it. 

“Over here,” A little, quiet voice whispers, and Alex’s eyes land on Bay, who’s taking shelter in the next tree over.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Alex greets quietly, smiling, and Bay holds a finger up to his lips before pointing to the area above Alexander’s head.

Lo and behold, he’s about to fall asleep beneath a hive of tracker-jackers. They’re the Capitol’s twisted, mutt version of a wasp. They’ve got large, golden bodies, and attack people with a vicious quickness. Their stings can swell up to the size of an orange, and it only takes four or five stings to kill a person with their venom. 

He looks back to Bay, who’s making a sawing motion with his hand. It dawns on Alex that his only way out of his particular conundrum is to unleash the tracker-jacker nest onto the Careers. He fishes his knife out of the side pocket of his backpack, and sits up properly, grabbing hold of the branch with one hand and sawing at it with his knife in the other. He saws so quickly, and for such a long time, that the friction of the knife makes the blisters on his hands burst. He’s nearly done, when he decides that he’d rather not continue to butcher his hands.

“Tomorrow,” He whispers to Bay. “Get some sleep. I’ll let you know when you need to leave.”

Bay nods, slipping away to the other side of the tree without saying another word. Before he does anything else, Alex opens the gift that he has received from his sponsor. In side the case is a little jar of medication, and a note on a small slip of paper.

_**Use generously, and stay alive. — R** _

Alex snorts, setting the jar of medication off to the side. He rummages through his bag, and finds his bottle of water and iodine. He pours some over his blistered hands, and hisses softly. It hurts, but it’s not unbearable. He braces himself, and pours the water over the burn on his thigh, wiping at the dried blood and raw, burnt skin with the cloth of his jacket. He makes a surprising noise of agony, but quickly cuts it off. Too many instances like that, and he might not get another gift. He opens the jar of medication, smearing the jelly like substance over his hands and rubbing them together. It’s cooling and numbing, and does wonder for his pain. The does the same for his leg, sighing in relief as he feels the tortuous pain slowly dissipate.

“Thank you,” He says aloud, knowing that Rafael can hear it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He ends up falling asleep with his knife in his hand, resting up for the hell that’s sure to come the following morning.

Just after dawn, Alex jolts awake. He checks his surroundings; the Careers are asleep, and Bay is wide awake, staring at him with curious eyes. Alex peers above his head; it seems that the tracker-jackers are finally emerging— two or three have left the hive, and are currently flying about. They must have been in hibernation for a short spell, with all the smoke and fire from yesterday. He knows that now’s his chance to do this; now is his chance to escape. 

He turns back to Bay. “I’m about to unleash these fuckers, go on and get outta here, sweetie.”

Bay nods, and takes of swinging through the trees. Alex watches until he vanishes from sight, and then goes back to sawing at the branch. 

The longer he saws, the more anxious he feels; Alex is worried that the Careers might wake up, or that Henry won’t. As he frets over every possible scenario in his head, he is stung by a tracker-jacker on the back the hand he’s using to saw at the branch with. He grunts, keeps going, and ends up being stung twice more, both times in the throat. After a bit more sawing, the branch snaps, and the hive explodes on the ground. Persephone and Ruby and the girl from Four all shriek, and the Career boys and Henry all wake up. Henry is the smartest of them all, and immediately takes off towards the lake, Hunter and the boy from Four on his heels. Persephone eventually follows suit, shrieking as she runs. Ruby and the girl from Four don’t make it that far, and are ultimately stung to death before the tracker-jackers go after the remaining Careers and Henry.

Alex is so disoriented that he falls out of the tree with his knife in his hand and his back on his back. He feels a gush of blood, and hears a sickening crunch sound come from his nose, and groans pitifully. He scrambles past the dead girls, and towards his pool of water, just in case the tracker-jackers decide to come back to their broken nest. He feels woozy and tired, and is about to fall asleep, but he perks right up whenever he remembers Ruby’s bow and quiver of arrows. He hoists himself out of the pool, hobbling over to Ruby’s oozing, disfigured, swollen body. The world around him is hazy, but he grabs ahold of the bow in Ruby’s hand and tries to pull it away. It’s not going anywhere, so he has to pry her cold, wiry fingers off the bow. He hears a few distinct snapping sounds, and frees the bow from her grasp, before turning her onto her front to get the quiver off of her. 

Nauseous and overwhelmed, he has to keep himself from gasping when he hears footsteps. It appears that the Careers have come after him. He stands on shaking legs, and turns to face the Career, and finds Henry there. Henry drops the spear raised over his head, runs to Alex, grabs him by the shoulders, and gives him a chaste kiss, shaking him. 

“Alex, lovie, you need to _run_.” He says, sounding completely out of breath.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Alex argues. He doesn’t know why, but he’s on the verge of tears. “We have to stick together.”

“I’ll be right behind you, but you need to _run_.” Henry says again, and Alex shakes his head, suddenly crying hysterically. “You need to leave as quickly as you can.”

“They’re gonna hurt you, I can’t—“ 

“Shh, shh,” Henry coos, smoothing his hands down Alex’s face, pressing soft kisses to his lips. “I won’t be long after you. I’m just creating a diversion, okay? I’ll be right there with you.”

“Okay,” Alex sobs, sniffling messily. “Yeah okay.” He grabs Henry’s wrists, squeezing him.

“ _Lover boy!_ ” Hunter calls out, and the panic in Henry’s eyes makes Alex’s stomach churn. 

“Run, now.” Henry demands. “ _Go!_ ”

And with that, Alex takes off stumbling and running through the woods as fast as his damned and disoriented body will allow him. As he takes off, the tracker-jacker venom finally kicks in, producing hallucinations so terrifying and realistic that he can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s in his head. He keeps looking back for Henry, and never sees him following.

His hallucinations are growing more and more horrifying. A moth the size of a house. Neon orange bubbles that hum louder and louder as he moves closer to them, vanishing just before he can touch them. Trees transforming into bloody, sinewy messes. Eventually, his body gives out from exhaustion, and he falls to the ground and into a pit. It’s all too scary, too loud and bright. He can’t fathom running anymore.   
  


He can’t help but think about how Henry saved his life as ants crawl over him and dig into his eyes. He cries out in pain, and rubs at his eyes, only to find that there was nothing there in the first place. Disoriented, crying, and in pain, he passes out where he lies, finally in peace as he sleeps.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning y’all this one’s long and this one is *heavy*

Alex continues to struggle through his horrifying hallucinations. They mostly consist of the people he love in terrifying situations. June being hung, his mother being gutted like a fish, his father being shot by firing squad, and— he’s not quite sure, but this is the most horrifying— Henry approaching him, vomiting a fountain of blood, then falling to the ground. They all replay in his mind, over and over, back to back. He tries to scream, tries to open his eyes, but he can’t move or make a single sound. His most blissful moments are when he blacks out; it’s like the arena’s gone and turned off for a while. It’s the only respite he gets from his own personal Hell.

Finally, he wakes up. He doesn’t sit up at first, but he does acquaint himself with his surroundings. He’s cold, and feels wet, and for the most part, is very, very confused. When he does sit up, his head is splitting, and he feels very faint. Whilst grasping his bearings, he can’t help but think of Liam, and how this whole situation could have been avoided if they had just run away together. It’s not long before Henry materializes at the forefront of his mind. He just saved Alexander’s life. He remembers the way that Henry kissed him, the way he calmed him from the verge of a panic attack and sent him on his way. Alex has trouble believing that it actually happened— for all he knows, it could have been one great big hallucination.   
  


He forces himself to get up and look for water. He’s so fucking thirsty that he doesn’t even bother to purify it first, bacteria and impending nausea be damned to hell. Alex also uses this little trip as an opportunity to get a feel for the bow and arrow as he hunts. To his own shock, he doesn’t end up empty-handed; he comes back to his little shady area with a rabbit and bird and tow. He doesn’t remember when he last ate, but he feels _ravenous_ , so he gathers up all the twigs and sad kindling he can find, strikes a match, and gets a small fire started. 

While Alex is roasting the bird, he has this nagging feeling that somebody is watching him. He looks around, freezing when when he notices Bay hiding in the trees. They both watch each other for a moment or two, before Alex gives the best smile that he can muster. Bay disappears behind the trunk of a tree, and Alex laughs.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” He calls out to Bay, surprised by how deep and raspy his voice has become. “C’mere. I need an ally, and you need a good meal.”

Bay emerges from his hiding spot, brows raised curiously. “Are you serious?” He asks, slowly moving forward. He reminds Alex of Claudette what a bit, tiny and soft. Bay’s skin is darker, though, his cheekbones are sharper, and his eyes are wider. A curious little thing. Alex wonders who his parents had to piss off to get him put in here. 

Alex nods curtly. “‘Course I am. I know you’ve been watchin’ over me. I figured that if I handle the food and the bad guys, and you keep inventory and teach me a thing or two about medicine, then we’ll get along just fine.”

Bay smiles. “That sounds good to me.”

“Come sit, then. This bird’s ‘bout to be ready.”

In their short time eating together, Alex learns quite a few things from Bay. Apparently, the fatty little bird he’s just cooked is called a groosling, and they’re most frequently seen in Eleven. He also learns that— despite Eleven being the national hub for agriculture— the people of the district are probably some of the most malnourished in the whole country. 

“You ever just _steal_ anything?” Alex asks, a teasing smile on his face. 

Bay shakes his head, and Alex chuckles.

“Good. Stealing’s bad,” He says, knowing that Liam’s probably having a good laugh at home over his hypocrisy. “Or at least that’s what my mama tells me.”

“The peacekeepers in Eleven keep real good watch,” Bay tells him. “If you get caught stealing, they whip you out in the square, and make the rest of the district watch. Steal enough, and they put a bullet in you.”

That makes Alex’s stomach churn. No twelve year-old should be exposed to such a shocking level of violence. The way Bay said that— as if he’d been forced to watch it happen firsthand— really bothers him. He’s not exactly as to how he should respond to that, so he opts to change the topic instead. 

“How long was I out?” Alex questions, taking a large bite out of his leg of groosling; he thinks the bird might be a relative of the turkey. They’re quite close in taste.

“Two days,” Bay mumbles through a mouthful of rabbit. “I changed your leaves twice a day.”

Alex hums, looking down at then lumpy green paste that’s covering his hands. He knows it’s also covering his throat and neck. “Anything else happen when I was out?”

“You were having seizures.” Bay tells him, tone rather nonchalant for what he’s just said.

Alex chokes on his food; Bay ends up beating him on the back until he can breathe properly.

“What do you mean?” He asks, completely shocked by this revelation.

“You were having a really bad reaction to the wasps,” Bay explains, brows worrying their way together. “You kept screaming and talking in your sleep. Had a couple of seizures. I kept an eye on you, though. Made sure it didn’t get too bad.”

Alex is speechless, absolutely speechless. “Thank you.”

Bay smiles. “It’s no big deal.”

Alex clears his throat, and continues. “How many tributes died while I was out?”

“Just one” Bay reveals. “The girl from Six.”

“And the boy from Two?” He asks, fearing the worst.

Bay giggles quietly. “He’s fine. Not with the others anymore, but he’s fine.” He pauses for a moment, before looking to Alex. “Is all that stuff true?”

“Is all what true?” He replies, confused.

“About you,” Bay starts, teasing. “And _him_.”

Alex snorts, rolling his eyes. “Yes. It’s true.” He replies. Saying that feels strange on his tongue, but doesn’t feel bad. “Get enough to eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

For a while, the two of them just sit there and talk to each other. They talk about their families, what they do for fun, and their districts. Alex tells Bay as much as he can about Twelve, purely because he knows that the Capitol doesn’t want them to know jack shit about each other. Bay is the oldest of four siblings, has the sweetest little crush on a girl in his class, and learned how to swing from tree to tree so quickly because he spends most of his time before and after school picking fruit. When Bay’s stomach starts growling, Alex fussed over him like a mother hen until he eats a little more. 

Together, they go through their inventory. Alex is mortified to learn that Bay had been keeping himself warm with nothing more than a spare pair of socks. There’s not much in his pack, some nuts and roots, a slingshot, and a water skin. There’s also a bottle of iodine that’s nearly full. Alex scolds him for not purifying his water, and slips a rabbit leg into his pack for later. They go through Alex’s pack, and learns that the non-functioning sunglasses are actually a pair of night vision goggles; he feels a bit funny, having a twelve year-old explain this to him, but he’s glad to know that they actually have a purpose.

When night falls, Alex shares his sleeping bag with Bay, and belts them both into the tree. Watching him sleep with his makeshift mittens on over his skin makes Alexander realize just how young this boy is. He’s a baby— and he’s been fighting off people three times his size ever since they got here. The thought keeps him up for quite a while, only nodding off when he’s too tired to think about it anymore. 

The next morning, Bay changes Alexander’s leaves for what ought to be the final time. This consists of chewing on the leaves until they become a thick paste, and smearing the gunk over the areas where Alex had been stung. It’s an entirely unpleasant experience, but he would rather be covered in spit than seizing on the ground. 

While Bay is doing this with painstaking care, Alex’s mind drifts to the Careers. He knows that they’re all down at the Cornucopia, all their supplies in a stockpiled pyramid, surrounded on all sides by land mines begging to go off. 

Bay shakes him, and he comes back to. “Yeah?” He asks, wondering if something’s wrong, or if he’s scared him.

“What’s wrong?” Bay asks, the concerned look on his face saying it all. “You were making a funny face.”

“Nothing’s wrong, honey,” Alex assures him, smiling. “I was just thinking— don’t you think it’s about time that all those Careers learn what it truly means to be hungry?”

A spark goes off in Bay’s eyes, and he nods. Alex needs to come up with a plan, and come up with it quickly.

  
Alex takes comfort in Bay’s presence, and tries not to think too much about the fact that only one of them can make it out. He knows that it probably won’t come down to the two of them, but if it does, he knows that Bay will be the one that ends up going home. He’ll make it quick and easy for himself, and Bay will go down in history as the youngest Victor of the Hunger Games. A worthy title for someone who’s been through so much at such a young age.   
  


He tries to busy his mind with other things, like figuring out how to take that damned pyramid down. Those Careers have no idea what it’s like to be hungry. They’ve never been through what Alex and Bay have been through, and they never will. They don’t know what it’s like to throw up, and cry, and lie awake at night, too hungry to think, too hungry to breathe. It’s damn near time that they learn. 

Alex has seen the pyramid of supplies, but Bay describes it to him in greater detail. He has a better idea of the width and height, and now he knows that it’s guarded by the boy from Three. 

“Looks like we got our work cut out for us, then.” Alex muses, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Think we can do it?” Bay asks, and it makes Alex smile.

“I don’t _think_ ,” He starts, standing up. “I _know_ we can. It’ll be risky, but we can do it. I know we can.”

They’re walking through the forest together, when Bay starts talking to Alex about how much he loves music.

“Back in Eleven, when it was quitting time, I’d sing a song to the mockingjays, and they’d repeat it all through the fields until everyone knew it was time to clean up and go home,” Bay divulges. “That’s how I knew I could trust you, because you have the mockingjay pin.” He admits, reaching up and pressing his tiny, grubby fingers to the pin over Alex’s heart.

Truthfully, Alex had forgotten all about the pin, and hadn’t even noticed the mockingjay nests all over the arena. He hasn’t had time to dwell on the small things— he’s been far too busy fighting for his life, unfortunately. 

“I’ll show you right now,” Bay says, pointing at a nearby nest of mockingjays. He sings a simple, four-note song, and the birds repeat it, echoing it so many times that Alex’s ears are ringing. “Now you try.” He encourages, and Alex finds himself laughing at Bay’s enthusiasm.

He tries his hand at it, whistling four short notes and listening as the birds repeat them over and over again until the sound becomes all muddled.

“Cool,” He says, and Bay is absolutely beside himself, smiling brightly. 

“That’ll be our signal,” He decides. “To let each other know that everything’s okay, and that we’re heading back to base soon.”

Alex nods, finding this to be a very sound contingency plan. “Sounds good to me.”

After going over the plan one more time, they separate. Bay’s gone to light fires in hopes of distracting the Careers. Alex’s main objective is to get in, destroy the supplies, and get the fuck out. It’s not until he gets there that he realizes just how strangely the camp is set up. Why the hell would they stack all of their food around land mines? He supposes that he’ll never know.   
  


He overhears Hunter talking to talking to someone, and— oh, _God_ , he’s talking about Henry. 

“He won’t _be_ coming back,” Hunter scoffs. “After what I did to him with my sword, it’ll be a miracle if he gets through the night.”

Alex has to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep himself from sobbing. So it hadn’t been a hallucination, then. Henry had sacrificed himself to let Alexander get away. What a waste; he should have gotten out while he still had the chance. He sees smoke overhead; Bay’s just lit the first fire. Hunter, Persephone, and the boy from Three go to investigate. Alex thinks that they’re as bold as they are dumb; land mines will only do so much to protect their precious food. 

To his surprise, he sees Ivy emerge on the other side of the clearing. She doesn’t seem to notice him, and he doesn’t really care; he’s just glad that both of the tributes from Twelve have defied the odds and made it this far. She does an odd sort of jumping-dance to get a few supplies; a first aid kit, a large bottle of water, and a few packs of fruit. She repeats the process on the way out, and takes off sprinting in the direction of the woods once more. That’s when it clicks for Alex that District Three is known for their work in nuclear engineering; the boy must be rather skilled when it comes to rigging mines.

He shakes all intruding thoughts from his mind; now is his time to focus. He pulls an arrow from his quiver, shuts his bad eye, and aims for a bag of apples. The first two arrows merely rip the bag, but the third sends all the apples tumbling to the ground. This sets off a chain explosion so powerful that it knocks Alex back several feet. He groans loudly, ears ringing horribly, and sits up. The Careers’ supplies have been reduced to smithereens. He sits there for a while, trying to catch his breath. The explosions were so loud; his ears aren’t ringing anymore, but he can’t hear out of either one of them. 

Hunter and the rest of the Careers will be coming back soon, but he can’t physically stand. With shaking arms and legs, he claws himself into some brush for cover. He does a few small things to test his hearing. He whispers under his breath, snaps his fingers, brushes hair behind his ears; he can’t hear anything, not a thing at all. He tells himself not to panic— now is definitely not the time for it. He takes a few deep breaths, counting backwards from ten each time until he feels like he’s calmed down enough to keep from crying.

True to his suspicions, the Careers all return within minutes of their supplies being reduced to dust and ash. Hunter is livid, red-faced and screaming, but Alex can’t understand him. He gets in an argument with the boy from Three, and snaps his neck, ultimately killing him. Had Alex not felt the boom of the canon vibrate against the dirty ground, he wouldn’t have known if the boy had died or lived. When the sun goes down, the remaining Careers head back into the woods to hunt, and Alex falls asleep right there in the brush.

Upon awakening the next morning, he discovers that the hearing in his right ear has made a turn for the better. His left ear seems to be beyond repair. He makes his way back into the woods, stumbling and disoriented, but glad that he can stand again. He feels completely blind on his left side— not being able to hear is surely the strangest thing that has ever happened to him. He goes further into the woods, and there’s still no sign of Bay, so he belts himself to a tree and lets himself doze off.   
  


Another day passes, and there’s still no sign of Bay. Alex finds this to be extremely concerning, and sets out after him, his mind already racing. He hasn’t felt a canon since the boy from Three; where is he? He reaches the point of the third signal fire, and finds the leaves haven’t even been lit. Panicking, Alex finds himself hyperventilating, feeling bile rise in his throat when he hears the mockingjays singing Bay’s song— Bay’s nearby. He whistles the song back to the birds, and they respond. Hopefully, he’ll get a response soon.

Suddenly, he hears a high-pitched, horrified shriek.

“ _Alex!_ ” Bay screams, and Alex’s heart drops.

“ _Alex, help!”_

“ _I’m coming!_ ” He screams in return, sprinting in the direction of Bay’s desperate cries for help. “ _I’m coming, I’m coming!_ ”

“ _Alex!_ ” Bay cries. “ _Alex, help!_ ”

“ _I’m coming, I’m—_ “ Alex panics, looking down when he sees something— someone thrashing about; Bay’s been trapped in what appears to be a large fishing net. Alex starts clawing and ripping at the material, not about to stop until Bay has been freed.

“Shh, baby, _baby_ , I’m here,” Alex tells him, trying desperately to untie the netting that’s holding him down. “It’s okay, you’re okay—“

“ _Alex_ —“

A spear whirs past him, and with pure, reflexive quickness, Alex looses an arrow from his bow, impaling the boy from Four right in his Adam’s apple. The boy vomits an impressive fountain of blood, makes a nasty gargling sound, and falls to the ground, another canon shaking the ground.

Alex sighs in relief, and turns back to Bay, making a strangled sound of anguish and terror when he sees the spear imbedding in his stomach. To his own morbid shock, Bay sits up, pulls the spear out of himself, and stares at it for a good five seconds before dropping it on the ground. Alex immediately cradles his head, shushing the poor, sweet boy.

“Does it hurt?” He asks frantically, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He can’t hear what Bay replies with, so he asks again. “Are you hurting?”

“No,” Bay rasps, his sweet voice sounding weak and feeble. He looks up at Alex with an emotional, cloudy look in his eyes. “Hold my hand?”

Alex sobs, nods, and laces his fingers with Bay’s. God, his hands are so little. He’s only a baby— he isn’t even out of grade school yet. Alex squeezes his hand. Bay’s fingers twitch in response.

“You have to win,” He tells Alex, smiling as tears stream down his face.

“I will,” Alex swears, nodding emphatically. “I’ll do it just for you.”

Bay laughs, and it turns into a sputtering cough. He looks back up at Alex, and smiles, fat, wet tears streaming down his face. “Can you sing?”

Alex doesn’t sing— hasn’t done it since his dad got sick— but he does it for Bay. It’s an old lullaby from Twelve, about working through a painful day with the promise that tomorrow will be kinder. He tries to keep his voice steady for Bay, who smiles and mouths something— _thank you_ , or _I love you_ , Alex’s tears are too blinding to truly tell. 

By the time the lullaby is finished, Bay is staring off into space. Alex knows that’s not what he’s really doing, but he just can’t bear to think about but right now. Gently, carefully, he slides his fingers over Bay’s eyes, closing them.

“There,” He sobs, smiling as his filthy, awful tears rain down over Bay’s face. “Now you’re just sleeping.”

On auto-pilot, he forces himself to do one final thing. He gathers up armfuls of flowers; wild lilies, pink rose buds, and a few sprigs of baby’s breath. Why these would be growing in the forest, he doesn’t know; he suspect that someone in the Capitol is looking out for him. He braids the baby’s breath into Bay’s hair, and places the lilies and rose buds over the gaping wound in his abdomen; he really does look like he’s sleeping. Like nothing happened at all. 

Wordlessly, he touches three fingers to his lips, and lifts them up to the sky. He holds himself like that for what he deems is a respectable amount of time, before moving out of the area. Somebody has collect Bay. Somebody has to take Bay home. Alex decides there and then that he will get revenge against the Capitol in any way that he can; he is going to make those sorry bastards pay for mercilessly slaughtering an innocent child.

Sometime after the hovercraft has come and gone, Alexander collapses to the ground, letting out an anguished scream of pain. He spits on his hands, scrubbing at them mercilessly in attempt to get Bay’s blood off his hands. He claws at his skin, and pulls at his hair until it comes out in his hands, sobbing and wailing the whole time. Bay is dead, and it is all his fault. He never should have left him alone; he should have been lighting the fires. How could he have been so foolish? How—

He hears the distinctive sound of wind chimes, and a parachute all but falls into Alex’s lap. At first, he’s so goddamned angry and ashamed in himself that he throws it against a tree, hoping that it’ll shatter into a million pieces. Very quickly, he realizes that is no way to treat the gift of a sponsor, and retrieves it, prying it open. 

It’s a loaf of bread. It seems to be made of dark brown ration grain, and sprinkled with seeds. There’s an odd, crescent-like shape to it; they don’t have bread like this back home. He fishes the slip of paper out of the bottom of the container, and reads it.

**_Thank you. — District Eleven_ **

Wordlessly, Alex puts the bread back in its container, slams it shut, and cries, and cries, and cries.

Alex is very confused when he wakes up in a tree the next morning. He doesn’t remember belting himself in, and he certainly doesn’t remember scaling it. His head is pounding, his arms are weak, and his mouth is desert dry. As he downs his water and munches on bread and beef strips, he finds it hard to stop thinking about the boy from Four. His mind flashes back to what Henry told him, about not wanting to be a pawn in the Capitol’s Games; Alex lets out a dry sob when he realizes the boy is his first kill since he’s set foot in the arena. He’s killed somebody, and he didn’t even know the boy’s name. He feels like a monster. He thinks of that boy’s family and friends, how he’s taken their person from them, how he’s robbed them of something that they’ll never get back. He knows that they want him dead, that they’ll be happy watching the light leave his eyes. It makes him nauseated to think about that for too long, so instead, he thinks of Bay. Sweet, innocent Bay. He never hurt a soul; all he ever did was speak kindly of others, even those who wanted to hurt him. He was a healer, and he loved to sing songs. He feels his eyes watering, but he doesn’t know how to shut his mind off. It’s all just too much to handle. 

Alex is about to drift back off to sleep, when he hears a loud blast of trumpets fill the air, quickly followed by Mike Holleran’s voice.

“ _Greetings, tributes,_ ” He calls out. “ _There has been a small change to the rules regarding Victors this year.”_

Alex’s brows furrow; the rules haven't changed once in all seventy-four years of this hideous tradition. Skeptical, he continues to listen. 

“ _This year, we will allow two tributes to be crowned as Victors, so long as they have formed an alliance with one another,_ ” He says. “ _All alliances must be formed as soon as possible to be—“_

Alex calls out Henry’s name before he can stop himself, and promptly slams his hand over his mouth. 


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felt bad about last chapter’s cliffhanger, so here— a slightly less climactic cliffhanger lmaoo

Alex immediately sets out to find Henry. He’s not in love with him— or maybe he is— either way, he told himself that he would protect Henry, and stick by his side until the bitter end. Now is as good a time as ever to live up to that promise; he can figure out all that touchy-feely, emotional garbage some other time. In addition to his promise, he really needs to keep the whole “star-crossed lovers” thing going. They have to give the audience something to root for, and he thinks it’s been working pretty damn well so far.

Mentally, he takes stock of himself and the remaining tributes. He determines that his biggest threats are Hunter, Persephone, and Daisy— the girl from Eleven. Those are the remaining adversaries that are the most likely to come after him. Ivy wouldn’t dare try to kill or attack him; she would much rather watch from the shadows as someone does it for her. She’s funny like that. 

He doesn’t particularly know where to start on his search for Henry, so he starts at the stream. He fills up his water bottle, and the water skin he nabbed from Bay’s pack, putting a couple drops of iodine in each, shaking them vigorously before depositing them back in his own pack. He looks around, heart squeezing tightly when he happens upon a boulder streaked with blood. It looks fresh. 

“Henry?” He calls out, panicking, only receiving a taunting response from the mockingjays in the area. “Henry, where are you?” He asks, sounding urgent and anxious. Once again, no response. He starts moving onward, when he hears something that makes him freeze.

“‘M here,” Henry’s voice replies, sounding like it’s coming from beneath Alex. He looks around, unable to find anything, shrieking in horror when Henry’s eyes bolt open, his hand making a grab for Alexander’s leg.

“ _Oh my God, Henry!_ ” Alex exclaims. Henry has disguised himself with mud, moss, leaves, and twigs, and he’s done a damn good job at it. Alex drops to his knees, frantically pawing and clawing at the rocks and layers of mud that are weighing Henry down, crying without any sort of proper explanation. 

“Shh, shh,” Henry coos, reaching up with shaking fingers to caress Alex’s face. “I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re _damn right_ you’re not going anywhere!” Alex swears, pulling Henry into a sitting-up position. “Damn you,” He sobs, flinging himself into Henry’s arms as he cries. 

He feels Henry’s big, strong hands on his back, fingers pressing into his shirt as they rock back and forth. He keeps telling Alex that everything is alright— that they’re together now and nothing’s going to hurt them— but it only serves to make Alex cry harder. 

“Darling, you’re going to make yourself sick like this,” Henry tuts sympathetically. “Take some deep breaths for me.”

“I— can’t—“ Alex gasps, hiccuping and coughing as he cries. He’s really not sure why he’s acting like this; he’s missed Henry, so much that it hurts. 

“Shh, shh, yes you can,” Henry assures him, taking Alex’s hand, and pressing it to his chest. “Feel me, and try to do what I do, okay?”

Alex nods frantically, and tries his best to mimic the way that Henry breathes— long and deep. After a few minutes, he really does seem to calm down, and his first follow-up emotion to that whole ordeal is guilt. 

“God, I’m sorry,” He apologizes, and Henry shushes him again, brushing matted curls out of his eyes.

“Don’t apologize,” Henry pleads. “I know how hard you’ve had it; it’s okay to cry sometimes. Especially in situations like these.”

_Not right now_ , Alex wants to say. _Not when you’re so obviously in pain._

He bites his tongue, and slowly— carefully— he helps Henry into the stream. It’s an odd position; Henry’s got one leg around Alex’s waist, and both arms wound about his neck as Alexander leads both of them into deeper waters. Henry groans when he finds himself fully submerged in water, and Alex makes a soft noise of empathy, putting all of his focus and energy into scrubbing the dirt and muck from his skin.   
  


“You’re allowed to kiss me, you know,” Henry jokes teasingly, voice nearly inaudible. “What, with us being madly in love and all.”

Alex rolls his eyes, presses a quick, hard kiss to Henry’s mouth, and continues to clean him up. He wants to ask Henry just how long he’s been laying there; he quickly decides that he would rather not like to figure out the answer to that question. Henry is weak; Alex can figure out that much just from a quick glance. He’s pale, sweating, and his eyelids are drooping heavily. He pulls him out of the water and sits him down, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.

“You’re burnin’ up, baby.” Alex whispers, and Henry lets out an exhausted chuckle.

“Are you trying to get fresh with me?” He asks, and Alexander suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, giggling.

“If I were trying to get fresh with you, I think you would know it.” He retorts. This love-struck teen thing is a lot harder than he thought it would be; he isn’t used to speaking to Henry this way. They’re not so flirtatious with one another in their private lives— their intimate moments tend to be much more tender.

Henry hums. “Might you give me an example?”

“Not while we’re in here, no,” Alex replies, delighted at Henry’s groan of dissatisfaction. “C’mon, handsome. Let’s get you somewhere a little more comfy.”

He helps Henry up, and lets him put all his weight on him. Together, they walk in tandem, a couple hundred yards up the mountain. Alex is the first one to notice the cave, and helps Henry sit down on the ground as he pulls rocks out of the opening; there’s definitely something wrong with Henry’s leg, but he’d been far too afraid to take a look at it down by the stream. 

Carefully, he helps Henry into the cave, barricading them both inside with the rocks.

“We can stay in here until you start feelin’ better,” Alex tells him. “Let me get a good look at that leg, sweetheart.”

Henry groans, trying to prop it up and keep it bent at the knee. Alex moves forward, taking Henry’s foot and placing it in his lap, leaning forward in order to take a proper look at the full expanse of his thigh. The gash from Hunter’s sword is bad. Really, really bad. It goes all the way to the bone, is filled with puss, and smells of rot and decay. Alex doesn’t have the necessary tools to take care of this; a wound of this magnitude is much more suited to the skills of June and his mother.

“That bad, huh?” Henry comments, chuckling.

Alex grimaces, and shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I _have_ seen worse. This is still pretty bad, though. Not gonna lie to you, baby.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Henry sighs. “Though I _do_ want to know where you’ve seen something worse than a sword-related injury.”

Alex tells him about Twelve, and its history as an area made for coal mining. He tells him about the mining accidents that happen two or three times every half decade. He tells Henry about his father— he tells him about Terra Rathbone’s father, too. By the time he’s finished, Henry’s got an expression of admiration plastered across his face.

“What’re you lookin’ at me like that for?” He asks, smiling, and Henry smiles back, twice as wide and bright. 

“You just—“ Henry sighs, looking absolutely lovestruck as he starts over again. “You’ve been through and seen so much. And you’re not strong despite it, you’re strong because of it. Christ, Alex. You amaze me.”

Alex leans down and pecks his lips. It’s uncomfortable, knowing that the whole world is watching them share what should be private moments. It’s easy when Henry says things like that, though. Easy to hold him. Easy to touch him. Easy to love him. 

He hears a parachute growing louder outside, and pulls the rocks out of the entryway. He grabs the heavier, warm grey container, brings it inside, and barricades them back in.

“Medicine?” Henry croaks as Alex moves closer with the parachute. 

Alex opens the container, blinking rapidly as wisps of steam fly in front of him. He peers down into it, and finds a clear, unappetizing-looking broth that smells a lot like vegetable stock.

“Nope,” He sighs, pulling the note slip out of the container. “Just soup.”

“‘M not so hungry,” Henry protests.

“You’ll be eating this later.” Is all Alexander says, shutting the container, and reading the message.

**_Is that what you call a kiss?— R_ **

“That from Raf?” Henry asks, ever so curious.

“Yeah,” Alex replies. “Says he hopes that you’ll get better soon,” He says, lying through his teeth. He’s picking up what Rafael is putting down; the more disgustingly in-love they act, the more expensive gifts they will receive. He wonders how far they’ll have to take things to get Henry his medicine. 

Henry hums, looking frail and worried. Alex can see what he’s about to say on the tip of his tongue. “Alex—“ He starts.

“Don’t,” He cuts Henry off, receiving a moody huff in response.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to say what I wanted to say.”

“Alright, fine,” Alex allows. “Go ahead and say it. I’m sorry for jumping the gun on that one.”

“‘S okay,” Henry slurs, starting up again. “If I— if I don’t make it out—“

Alexander just can’t help himself, pressing his lips to Henry’s to get him to shut the hell up. “Don’t talk about all that,” He tells him. “We’re gonna get out, and we’re gonna do it together, okay?”

“But what if—“ Henry starts, and Alex leans down to kiss him again.

“There are no ‘ _but_ ’s about it,” He insists. “It’s all or nothin’ sweetheart.”

Henry’s smile is so adoring and sweet that it makes Alex wants to scream. “If you say so, lovie.”

He’s definitely better at all this affectionate stuff than Alex is; maybe it’s all one big act for him. Either way, Alex could take a few leaves out of his book.

After a long while of coaxing and kissing, Alexander finally convinces Henry to eat a bit of the broth with the last of his crackers. The rest of the day is spent flirting; Henry is so charming, and his touches are so gentle. Alex still can’t determine if he’s acting or not; his own emotions are screaming at him loud and clear— Henry’s just so adept at saying the right things— the things that people want to hear— that he can’t tell if he means it when he says he loves him or not. 

“When’s the last time you got some sleep, hmm?” Henry asks, curling strands of Alex’s hair around his fingers. “Don’t get me wrong— you are very, very handsome, but you look as if you’ve been awoken from the dead.” He chuckles. Neither one of them are sure when it initially happened, but they’re both cozied up in the sleeping bag, Alex’s head resting on Henry’s pectoral. 

Alex doesn’t answer, avoiding Henry’s eyes and flushing bright red when he tuts.

“Now, that just won’t do,” Henry tells him, slipping a hand up the back of Alex’s shirt, pressing his warm palm to the small of his back. “I’ll keep watch, you take a nap.”

“I don’t need a nap,” Alex argues, yawning sleepily.

“Mmm, of course not,” Henry replies, pressing a quick peck to Alex’s forehead whilst continuing to rub his back. It doesn’t take long for Alex to slip under. 

When he wakes up again, the first thing he does is examine Henry’s leg. It’s worse, much worse; there are angry red streaks crawling up and down his leg. He rips a strip of fabric off the bottom of his jacket, and ties it around Henry’s leg as tightly as he can.

“Is it really that bad?” Henry asks him, and he sighs, feeling uncomfortable with all the lying he’s been doing lately.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He replies, and Henry laughs.

“Do me a favor, and _never_ gamble,” He tells Alex, smiling lovingly. “You’d lose your last dollar with that god-awful poker face.”

Alex sighs. “It’s not the best, but—“

“Alex, lovie, I know what blood poisoning is,” Henry replies, cutting to the chase. “Saw the streaks earlier, thought I’d let you be the final judge.”

“You could have woken me up, you know,” Alex bites, and Henry shakes his head, smiling when Alex inches closer to him, intertwining their heads. “I would have understood.”

“You deserve as much sleep as possible,” Henry tells him, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going to deprive you of that.”

Alex is about to start an argument, when trumpets sound, and Mike Holleran’s voice can be heard loud and clear.

“ _Greetings, remaining tributes_ ,” He greets, and God, his voice is growing so annoying that Alex thinks he’ll punch him if he ever gets to meet him in person, Nora’s relation to him be damned. _“At this point in the Games, all of you are in desperate need of something to survive. Whether it be food, clean water, or first aid, you all desire something. You all will find those things in a backpack with your district’s number on it, located in the Cornucopia at dawn. We look forward to seeing you at the feast. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”_

Before Alex can say anything, a gentle hand curls around his wrist. He looks down, and sees Henry with a sober, serious expression on his face. 

“You’re _not_ going down there tomorrow,” Henry tells him, and Alex’s brows furrow.

“Of course I am, especially if that backpack could have your medicine in it,” He replies.   
  


“Absolutely _not_ ,” Henry says, shutting him down. “A pot of medicine isn’t worth you losing your bloody life.”

“But—“

“ _Please_ , Alex,” Henry begs. “Don’t go down there tomorrow. Stay with me.”

Alexander can’t say no to him, not when his eyes are wet and glistening with tears. He sighs, leaning down and kissing each of Henry’s eyelids. “Don’t cry,” He coos, trying to calm him down a bit. “I won’t go. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Henry replies, voice wobbling unsteadily; he was really about to cry over Alex. That does something funny to his insides. 

The hours roll by, and before long, Henry has grown bored.

“Tell me a story?” He requests.

Alex snorts, shaking his head. “Nope. No stories.”

“Please?” Henry begs, and Alex sighs, laying down in the sleeping bag and rolling onto his side, his face inches away from Henry’s.   
  


“What kind of story do you want to hear?” He murmurs, finding their close proximity to each other to be quite comforting.   
  


“A happy one,” Henry whispers back. “A nice one.”

Alex hums, wracking his mind until he decides on one that he likes. “I’ll tell you the story about how I got June her goat, Lady.”

Henry chuckles, cozying up to Alex. “Alright.”

There’s some embellishments made to the story; instead of using money that Liam made when he killed a buck and sold it to the local butcher, he sold his mother’s locket, and Liam simply held onto the money for him and accompanied him on his journey into town. He talks about how he and Liam went to the market together with the money, and found the Goat Man there with an injured goat that he’d planned on selling to the butcher for meat. Alex had purchased the goat after the butcher had told him that she, in fact, did not want the goat, before winking at him. They tied a rope around the goat’s neck, and led it home, where June christened her Lady, and was all too excited to take care of her. 

By the end of the story, Henry is smiling sleepily. He looks much more pale, so Alex reaches forward, feeling his face. God, he feels like he’s on fire. 

“‘M gonna get some more water, okay baby?” He tells Henry, who sits upright in the sleeping bag at these words.

“Okay,” Henry replies, rubbing his face with his hands and yawning. “I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Alex smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. “I love you. So, so much.”

Henry leans up as best as he can, and Alex rewards him with a proper kiss. “I love you, too. Don’t be too long, please.”

“I won’t,” Alex replies, taking the pack with the water bottles and knives in it— he would just take the bottles, but it never hurts to be prepared. 

He’s down at the stream when he receives yet another parachute. Upon opening it and finding a vial, he thinks that it might be anti-infection medication, sent from some saint to cure Henry. One smell tells him all he needs to know; it’s a sleep aid. He can see why Raf sent this— it’s enough syrup to keep him out cold for at least an hour after the cornucopia. He gathers some berries, the vial, and the water bottles into his arms, making the journey back to the cave. Using the bowl from earlier, he mashes the berries up, adds a few mint leaves and the sleep syrup, and mashes it all again, before practically spoon-feeding it to Henry.

“A bit sweet, innit?” Henry comments, not realizing what Alex has done until he utters those words.

Not before long, he’s out like a light, and Alex presses a quick kiss to his forehead.   
  


“I love you,” He whispers, quiet enough that he hopes the cameras can’t pick it up. “I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, he sets off towards the Cornucopia with his bow and arrow, barricading Henry in the cave for the sake of his own safety.

Alex is gonna get that medicine for him, even if it’s the last thing he ever does. 


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long week oof— here’s a new chapter!!

Halfway down to the Cornucopia, Alex finds himself scurrying back up to better camouflage thecave. He covers the rocks barricading the front entrance with twigs and rocks and mud; something about it all felt off to him. He didn’t want Henry to be in danger if things ended up getting ugly later on. He knows that if he dies, Henry won’t stand a chance, but he would hate to leave him at a greater risk of getting hurt.

By the time nightfall hits, he’s begun to feel like a bit of an idiot. He’s barricaded himself outside the cave, and it’s freezing outside. The Gamemakers have been messing with the temperatures above all else, making it humid and hot during the day, then plunging to nearly polar temperatures at night. He sits on the ground, his back against the rocks, and becomes a slave to his thoughts for a while. His mind lingers on home; what are his mom, June, and Leo doing right now? Probably sleeping; actually, probably not sleeping. Everything’s warped in the arena. They’re probably watching him right now, rocking like an idiot and trying not to freeze to death. He can’t help but wonder if they’ve his dad stay over with them in the meantime. He was the main person that looked after him. His mind drifts to Liam, too; he hopes his family is doing okay. He hopes Liam is doing okay. The thought of his cheeks, sunken and hungry, upsets Alex. He decides not to fuss over it a moment more.

Eventually, the sun does start crawling its way across the sky, and the frost on the ground melts as quickly as it had formed overnight. His lack of sleep leaves him feeling on edge and unhinged; perhaps his alert state will help in keeping him safe. At the first glint of sunlight, he positions himself in the bushes, and waits to see if the other remaining tributes are going to take the bait and willingly walk into a bloodbath. Suddenly, like an odd creature come out at night, Ivy leaps from the Cornucopia, and snags her pack, a small bag with the number twelve written on it. She makes a beeline for the forest, running as fast as her little legs will carry her, and vanishes from sight. He isn’t exactly sure as to why, but the fact that she’s managed to outsmart him again has him grinding his teeth in rage. She doesn’t deserve such a reaction; they’re both from Twelve, and they’ve both made it this far— he should be praising her for her survival skills, not wishing that she would slip up and make the worst possible move. 

He decides that he ought to get this over with, and goes next. He takes off sprinting at top speed, and hears something fly past his right ear; a knife. Reflexively, he knocks it back with his bow, and shoots an arrow in the general direction the knife came from. He knows he’s missed, so he turns, sees that it’s Persephone going after him, and aims with purpose, shooting her in the arm. He can’t even see the pain in her eyes as she rips it out, throws it to the ground, and throws a second knife at him, all in one swift motion. She hits Alex, and the knife puts a fairly good gash in his forehead. Alexander is blinded by the blood that’s trickling into his right eye, and Persephone uses this to her own personal advantage, tackling him and pinning him to the ground. He grunts, struggling against her, but her strong hands and body weight prevent him from going anywhere. 

Persephone transfers both of his wrists to one of her hands, keeping them pressed into the dirt as she pulls a knife from her pocket. She’s a truly terrifying sight, mad with power at the sight of a fresh victim all splayed out for her, a lamb led straight to her slaughterhouse. He can see why the Capitolites like her so much; she’s just as blood-hungry and insane as the rest of them. Alex thinks that Henry was spot-on when he called her deranged. 

“Ah-ah,” She tuts, digging her knees further into Alexander’s chest when he thinks that he’s gotten enough wiggle room to break free from her. “You’re not gettin’ away from me this time.” She promises, leaning in closer, her smile downright disturbing. “We killed your little friend, and now,” She pauses, her knife flicking up to Alex’s face. “We’re gonna kill you. I’m gonna take my time with you, too. Your little friend was such a waste of time and energy. A thief of resources and air—“

Alex shrieks, wordless, loud, and filled with rage. He strains and jerks every which way, trying to get sick creature off of him so that he can kill her himself. Somehow, she digs her knees impossibly deeper, sending a sharp pain through his chest that leaves him choking back a sob. 

“What was his name, again?” Persephone asks, giggling. “ _Bay?_ How pathetic. I bet you were _glad_ to see him go, I bet you were _happy_ to have him off your fucking back—“

Alexander gathers up a mouthful of blood and saliva, and spits right into her eyes. It’s _filthy_ , but if he’s going to go out because of her, he wants to make every minute worth its while. She growls, obviously displeased, and wipes the mess of fluids out of her eyes. Alex can feel his breathing becoming labored, and shuts his eyes. He feels her knife dig into the skin of his face, and doesn’t make a sound. He will not give her the satisfaction of knowing that he’s in pain. 

“I think I’ll start by giving you a pretty little smile,” She chuckles, leaning closer, her hot breath fanning across his skin. “Start at the corners of your mouth and stop around your cheekbones. Think lover boy will like that—“

Suddenly, he feels her lifted off his chest, and hears a loud scream. He bolts up and opens his eyes, trying his damnedest to get away from whatever mutt is coming this way to kill him. After a few short seconds of frantically looking around, he finds Daisy pinning Persephone against the wall of the Cornucopia by her neck. Persephone is gasping for air and clawing at Daisy’s hand, and Daisy— she’s crying. Big, fat, _angry_ tears. 

“You killed him,” Daisy rasps, bringing her face right in front of Persephone’s.

Persephone panics, kicking her legs, only to find that they’re several inches up off the ground. “No, I didn’t—“

“You _killed_ him!” Daisy yells, her rage consuming her grief, turning it into hellfire that consumes every inch of her from head to toe. Alexander is terrified. “I _heard_ you!”

“ _Hunter!_ ” Persephone shrieks, so loud and so high that the mockingjays begin to mock her. “ _Hunter! Hunter, Hunt—“_

Daisy throws Persephone to the ground, throws herself on top of her, grabs a rock off the ground, and repeatedly bashes her in the head of it. It’s bloody, and it’s gruesome, but Alex can’t tear his eyes away, letting out dry sobs as he sits idly by and watches a murder unfold right in front of him. When the canon goes off, Daisy finally stops. There’s a large dent in Persephone’s head, and blood is trickling out of her ears, eyes open wide in terror. Daisy kicks her once, twice, before confirming Alexander’s assumptions. Persephone is dead. 

She turns on Alexander next, bloody rock still in hand. “What was all that she was sayin’?” She asks, still crying despite it all. “About you and Bay?”

“We,” Alex stammers, clearing his throat and wiping at the cut in his head in vain. “Bay and I were allies. I got stung by tracker-jackers in the woods. He kept me alive while I was out, so I tried my best to do the same. We blew up the Careers’ food together right before they took him,” Alex tells her. 

Daisy studies him for a moment, before ultimately dropping the rock, wiping tears from her face. “Just this time, Twelve,” She grumbles, taking her own pack from the Cornucopia, as well as the one that was supposed to go to Hunter and Persephone. “For Bay.”

Alex nods, processing her words as he watches her run off. This was the only time Daisy would save him. Next time they see each other, it’s a fight to the death. At the sound of Hunter’s voice shouting for Persephone, he bolts up, running to the center of the Cornucopia, grabbing his and Henry’s pack, and getting the hell out of there as fast as he can. He’s paranoid from a lack of sleep; he keeps looking over his shoulder to see if Hunter’s caught onto him yet. He does it so frequently that he trips and scrapes his face. 

When he does make it back to the cave, he’s shaking, crying, and gasping for air. It’s all too much— he feels like he might die if he’s out here for a moment more. He claws at the rocks, making just enough room for him to squeeze inside, before putting the barricade back in place. He flops down to the damp, dirty ground, and wipes desperately at his face and eyes. All he really does is smear blood around, but he feels better after doing it. He pries the pack open with his dirty fingernails, and finds that they haven’t just been given medicine, but an entire first aid kit. With shaking hands, he undoes Henry’s tourniquet, cleans out his gash as best as he can, injects one of the three syringes of medication into the side of his thigh, bandages it, and re-ties the tourniquet as tight as he can. He can’t help but wish that his mother or June were here. They’re infinitely better at this than he is. For all he knows, he’s probably hurting Henry instead of helping.

After shutting the first aid kit and kicking it away from him, he lays down. His eyes feel heavy, but he’s still trembling— too afraid to sleep, too afraid of what slumber might bring. His eyes focus on something bright and small; a white butterfly on the wall of the cave. Half-deliriously, he takes the time to consider if it’s going to kill him in his sleep or not. After watching it for a few good minutes, he determines that it won’t be hurting him or Henry anytime soon. Still paranoid, he falls asleep watching that damn butterfly crawl across the wall of the cave and out of sight. 

When Alex wakes up, he is shocked to find that he is not, in fact, at home in his bed. The dream he’d been having felt so real; it had been his mother sitting by his bedside, singing old lullabies to him and stroking his hair out of his eyes. Nobody else was in the dream— just him and his mother. His panic when he awoke to find himself on the ground of a dark, wet cave, had been absolutely immeasurable. Henry was quick to reassure him that he was safe, though, shushing him and caressing his face, brushing matted, bloody hair out of his face. 

They sit together now, eating the last of their crackers and beef in silence. Alex feels guilty for leaving Henry for so long, for nearly getting himself killed for a fucking first aid kit and a few vials of medication. He says this much to Henry, his stomach churning as he vocalizes his innermost emotions. 

“I knew you were going to find some way to do it,” Henry sighs fondly, digging a few alcohol wet wipes out of the first aid kit. “I just wasn’t expecting to be drugged.”

Alex looks away from him, sheepish. “You weren’t gonna let me go, and you needed that medicine.”

“I did,” Henry confirms, cleaning Alex’s face, as well as the nasty little cut left behind by Persephone’s knife. “I think we both need to work on becoming less stubborn, don’t you?”

Alex chuckles. “Yeah, I think it’d do us both some good.” He hisses when the alcohol wipe comes in contact with his cut, reaching out and grabbing onto Henry’s wrist. 

Henry doesn’t push his hands away; he doesn’t even get mad. “You’re doing so well, darling. Just squeeze if it hurts, alright?”

Alex nods, and Henry continues. He finds himself squeezing for short intervals of time, and every time he does, Henry presses a kiss to any available skin he can find. It’s comforting, especially when he applies some sort of medical-grade gel to the cut. It’s minty, and it stings, but it’s better than a gaping, infected wound. 

After Henry finishes working on him, Alex takes a look at his leg. It still looks bad— his blood poisoning won’t be going anywhere anytime soon— but the cut itself isn’t nearly as gory, nor is it festering to the extent it was before. He bandages it back up, re-ties the tourniquet, and leaves it be. 

The Gamemakers have concocted quite the nasty storm, so the two of them are confined to the cave for the time being. Henry doesn’t necessarily see this as a bad thing, but Alexander is beginning to grow restless, all of his thoughts bouncing off the walls of his mind. Alex decides that now is as good a time as ever to unload all the emotions that have been building up inside of him, so he talks about Bay and Daisy and the boy from District Four. He talks about blowing up the Careers’ food, about the signal that Bay answered, about cutting him out of a net and watching him get speared in his tiny, hungry little tummy. He talks about shooting the boy from Four, and how he was Alex’s first real kill of the Games. He talks about covering Bay in flowers and being sure to mind his wooden necklace; his token from home. He talks about how Bay was the only reason that Daisy spared his life, and how she’d told him that she won’t be sparing him a second time. 

By the time he’s gotten it all out, he feels better. Henry is comforting, tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin of Alex’s back with his fingertips. Alexander is laying with his head on Henry’s shoulder, and a thought dawns on him. 

“I think we would have been good friends with Daisy,” He decides. “If the Games weren’t a thing, and the districts were open.”

Henry takes a moment to consider this, before nodding in agreement. “I think so, too. She seems like she’s got a genuine kindness to her.”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. He wants to tell Henry about how desperate he is for all the death to stop, but he doesn’t. He can’t afford to look weak. Not now. Not ever again, really. The thought of never having the proper privacy to cry again makes him feel faint. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a few deep breaths, and starts to tell stories from Twelve. He knows that Henry likes all his stories, and it gives him something to do besides feel sorry for himself.

Eventually, they circle back to the topic of Daisy. Henry explains that he knows where she hides— apparently, on the far side of the circle, one can find Daisy in a wide-open field. Henry sees it as nothing more than a threat. Alex can’t help but think of Liam, and how he’d weigh the pros and cons of staying in the field. Ultimately, Liam would stay in the field, ignoring the dangers of doing so because the field was a source of food. Food is a pro that outweighs all other cons. He wonders what Henry would think about his conversations with Liam about the Games and Panem in the woods; he comes to the quick conclusion that Henry would enjoy them. He thinks that his boys would get along with one another pretty well. 

The day dwindles on, and the lack of food becomes more apparent as time passes. He’s tempted to leave, to go hunt and gather, but that’s not an option that can be considered viable at the moment. It dawns on him and if he and Henry start acting more romantic towards one another, that Rafael will reward him with food. Alex can’t take what he dishes out— Henry is too good at this flirting stuff. They lay there, hand in hand, and talk about the most idealistic things for hours. Henry kisses him, and Alex’s heart swells. He loves Henry, so much that he can’t bear it. What a terrifying thought. They fall asleep, Henry’s arms wound around Alex and holding him tight. For the first time in a long while— since his father held him like that, when the whole family was still together, and they all shared one big bed— Alexander falls asleep feeling safe. 

They both wake up the next morning with hunger pains that squeeze at their stomachs, rattling around in their rib cages. Alex finds himself in tears because of them; they haven’t been this bad in years, not since the first few months after Oscar had to stop working. He realizes that this sort of behavior from a tribute is absolutely unacceptable, so when Henry asks him what’s wrong, Alex simply says that he misses his father and hopes that he’s doing well. Henry shushes him and comforts him until the worst of his pains are over, shushing and rocking him, like one would do to a small, fussy child.

Alex is desperate for Rafael to send them some food, so he turns the star-crossed lovers act up to eleven. 

“When did you first realize that you liked me?” He asks, and Henry smiles. 

“That I liked you, or that I loved you?” Henry asks in response, and Alexander feels his face burn up.

“That you loved me, I guess.”

Henry hums, leaning forward to kiss Alex’s cheek. “When we were on the roof together after the tribute parade. We were drained, and exhausted, and you had just embarrassed me in front of Philip because you thought it was funny. You sat beside me, and you spoke about District Twelve with such fondness, such love, that I found myself hanging on every word.”

Alex smiles, burying his face in Henry’s shoulder. Henry buries his fingers in Alex’s hair, and continues speaking. 

“I thought you were so handsome, and sensitive, and so intelligent. Then and there, I made a promise to myself that I would,” Henry catches himself, sighs, and kisses Alex on the cheek. 

Alex lifts his head up, looking Henry in the eyes and raising a quizzical brow. “What promise?”

Henry groans. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Please, for me?”

Henry gives him a dirty, playful look, and his face goes red as he finishes his statement from earlier. “I made a promise to myself, that, if there were any way for us to both make it out alive, I’d beg you to go out with me.”

Alex bites back a laugh of shock. This is suddenly very, very real for him. Henry’s sweet on him, and he’s smitten with Henry.“Well, I think the odds of me saying yes are definitely in your favor.”

He leans forward, and presses a tender, slow kiss to Henry’s lips. It’s amazing, what’s happened to him over the span of a few weeks. He remembers being in the woods with Liam, telling him that he’ll never marry or have children, that he’ll die alone just to spite Richards and the Capitol. Now, he’s kissing a boy, defying all odds stacked against both of them, and promising to go out on a silly little date with him. The universe works in mysterious ways. Alex simply cannot make sense of it. 

They pull apart, and Alex pecks Henry’s lips again, again, and again. Henry laughs, a brilliant, bubbly laugh, and God, Alex wants to hear it all the damn time. He’ll do everything in his power to get Henry out of here. Even if it ends with him dead. The sound of wind chimes is loud and high, and Alex— unfortunately— separates from Henry to pull the rocks out of place.

Sitting just outside the cave, attached to a silver silk parachute, is a large basket of food. A gasp rips its way from Henry’s chest, and Alex feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double post woo woo

Alex has to remind himself— and Henry— that they need to go slow with all the cheese and bread and apples. He’s worried that eating so much so quickly will cause them to grow sick. When Henry manages to get a whole apple down by himself, Alexander can’t help the way that his pride buzzes just under his skin. There’s a tureen in the basket, and when he opens it, he notices that it’s filled to the brim with lamb stew on a bed of wild rice. Raf seems to have taken note of Alex’s favorites; as he digs through it with the ladle provided in the basket, he can see the dried plums stewing towards the bottom. Warm steam hits him dead in the face as he gives the stew a good stir.

“That’ll be a good dinner,” He murmurs, putting the lid back on the tureen so that his idle hands and stomach don’t rush to make hasty decisions before his mind’s had any say in the matter.

Henry chuckles, soft and short. “You seem pretty hungry right now.”

Alex shrugs. “I’m from Twelve; I’m always hungry.”

There’s a noise of distaste in the back of Henry’s throat; Alexander can’t help but find it funny that this notion makes Henry uncomfortable. As if Twelve hasn’t only had two Victors in the history of the Games. They’re hanging on by a thread, and thinking about it unsettles Henry. He can only imagine the discomfort he might feel if they make it out and choose to go there together. That particular thought has the gears in his head turning. 

Henry reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently. “What’s going on in that head of yours, hmm?” He asks, and Alex can’t help the way he balks. “Nothing too terrible, I hope.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “No, nothing bad. Maybe something a bit premature, but not bad. Not to me, at least.”

“Elaborate?” Henry asks, and Alex stares down at their hands, filth interlocked with filth, a union of grime. Jutting knuckles and wrist bones. Flawed and disgusting and absolutely perfect. He squeezes Henry’s hand, and Henry squeezes back. 

“I was just thinking— and I’m aware that it’s a bit early for this— but what are we gonna do if we win?”

Henry hums, and seems to genuinely ponder this. “I’m not too sure; we’ve been busy as of late, and I haven’t taken much time to ponder it.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Alex finds himself asking, anxiety gnawing at his core like some deranged beast, making his body feel jittery and heavy. “Establish some sort of ground that’s firm enough to walk on?”

Henry nods, his eyes moving up towards the cave’s ceiling. “I sort of figured that I would come to Twelve with you when it all blows over.”

Alex’s brain and heart both stutter. “What about your family?” He asks, confused by Henry’s willingness to force himself further into poverty. “Don’t you want to be close to them?”

“I do, believe me,” Henry breathes, his thumb ghosting over the back of Alexander’s hand. “I just feel like Twelve is much more my pace, and I wouldn’t want to force you to come up to Two. It would be quite difficult to process, and things are very different there, from what we’ve told each other.”

It’s all true, every bit of it, and yet— Alex can’t help but feel guilty. Like he’s committed some sort of crime. Like he’s ripping a perfectly good family apart for the sake of one person.

“What about your mother?” He asks. “What about Beatrice and Philip?”

“I plan on visiting them all before I go down, of course,” Henry replies. “I plan on keeping in touch with frequent letters, perhaps the occasional phone call. I’d never just leave them without a warning, lovie.”

Something about this whole conversation has Alex’s stomach churning with anxiety and dread. He’s not sure why, but the thought of making it out alright is almost as scary as dying is. He doesn’t want to figure out why— he doesn’t want to process it for a moment longer. Grasping at straws, he forces him to take a conversational detour. 

“Can you believe we’re gonna be neighbors with Raf?” He snorts, staring at the rocky, dirty ground so intensely that he might burn a hole in it. “That’s kinda messin’ with me right now.”

“Living down the street from Rafael sounds like quite the treat,” Henry says; Alex can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not. “How do you think he won his Games?”

Alex knows that, given the circumstances surrounding Raf’s Games, and the fact that he’s the only living Victor from Twelve, he ought to know his Games like the back of his hand. He doesn’t, though. The Games have always been a funny thing in Alex’s head. He’s watched the children of his parents’ dearest friends be sent to die. The kids he had holiday dinners with. The children he sang in school assemblies with. The classmates who came to check on him when he worried himself about the yearly field trips to the mines until he got sick. The ones who invited him, his mom, and June over for meals after his dad got sick. He only watches them when it’s a matter of life and death. He tries not to watch the old Games. Not if he can help it.

“I dunno,” He replies, hands trembling just a bit. “Must’ve been his wit.”

Henry chuckles. “He is quite witty, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Alex croaks, trying his best to keep calm.

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. Alex feels like he’s suddenly realized why Raf is such an asshole all the time; he’s been sending kids to die since before Alexander was born. He can’t think of taking his place— doesn’t want to think about it. His mind drifts to that sweet girl at the reaping— Claudette. He thinks about how sickly and small and completely afraid she was. The thought of sending someone as kind and innocent as her into a place like this—

He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until he feels Henry’s thumb swiping tears away from his cheek. He gasps once, twice, thrice; an absolutely innumerable amount of times. Henry takes Alex into his arms, shushing him and rubbing small, firm circles into his back. 

“Everything will be alright, darling,” Henry coos, his voice unbelievably soft and sweet despite the near-constant nag of pain. “We’ll be home soon enough.”

With that, Alex sobs harder, and presses his face into Henry’s chest as hard as he can, concealing himself from the cameras until his own tears lull him to sleep. 

When Alex wakes up, his eyes are heavy, and his body is heavy and sore. He lifts his fingers up to touch his eyelids, and is surprised to find them sore and aching. There’s no telling how long he cried, but it had to be upwards of an hour. Possibly more than two. Henry feels him stir— Alex assumes as much— and runs a soothing hand through his matted, oily hair. 

“Do you feel better now that you’ve had a chance to rest?” Henry asks, tentative.

“No,” Alex admits, voice rasping as he clings to Henry’s shirt. “I feel sick.”

“How so? Is something hurting?”

“I’m tired,” He explains. “Everything’s all wrong.”

Henry makes a noise of acknowledgment in the back of his throat, hoists himself up, and then helps Alex up. He feels guilty, knowing how much pain Henry is in, and being so completely helpless despite it. He apologizes, and says as much to Henry. 

“There’s no need to apologize. You’ve just reached your limit. You’re constantly hungry and tired, and you’re being subjected to nightmarish scenarios. I’d honestly be more concerned if you weren’t crying at the drop of a hat.”

Alex doesn’t know what to say in response to that, so he opts to stay silent. Henry pulls the basket of food closer, opens the tureen, and finds that the lamb stew is still steaming-hot. He grabs the bowls, and ladles some into both of them, putting a bit more in one bowl before handing it to Alex.

“You didn’t have to—“ 

“Yes, I did,” Henry insists, placing a fork in Alex’s bowl. “I want you to eat that, drink a bit of water, and go right back to bed, alright?”

“Alright.”

They sit there in silence, and they eat together. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like this will be their last night of peace together. Not their last night in the cave— but their last night of serenity in this place. Not that it was made to be tranquil or anything like that, but Alex feels safe in this moment. He scarcely feels safe. It’s unsettling to think that this could all be ripped away from them without a moment’s notice. He doesn’t like thinking about that. When the bowl of lamb stew is half-empty, he sets it down on the ground beside him, laying his head on Henry’s shoulder. 

“Drink something,” Henry reminds him. So gentle. “Please.”

Alex finds himself fumbling with the zippers of one of the backpacks, and digs out the water skin. He unscrews the lid, and takes two long, much-needed sips from it before screwing the lid back on. 

“A bit more than that, please.”

He doesn’t have the strength or mental capacity to argue right now, so he does as he’s told. He drinks until the skin’s half empty, and then shoves it back in the pack. Henry seems satisfied with this, as he doesn’t ask him to drink anymore. Alex is glad; eating and drinking has only worsened the cavernous pit inside of him. 

That night, through a crack in the rock barrier protecting them from the outside world of the arena, he sees Daisy’s photo in the sky. He’s not sure why at first, but seeing her up there makes pain soak into his bones. Then he realizes why; Bay. They had Bay in common. That’s why she saved him from Persephone. That’s why he’s still here to take care of Henry. They shared that pain. Now he carries it alone. And he will for the rest of his life. 

“There’s husbandry in heaven,” Henry breathes, and his strange words are just enough to keep Alex from crying again. 

“What’s that mean?” He finds himself asking. 

Henry smiles. “It’s an old saying from Two. The full saying is, ‘ _there’s husbandry in heaven, the candles are all out._ ’ It’s something we like to say when there’s no stars in the sky at night. We see it as a sign of bad luck.”

“How fitting,” Alex replies, stifling a yawn with his hand. He’s still shaken up from seeing Daisy’s photo. He can’t imagine he’ll last too much longer like this. 

When Henry suggests that he should go to bed, he’s more than willing to do so. He pulls his hood over his face, and burrows into Henry’s side. He doesn’t want the cameras on him tonight. This feels like the only way to keep people from seeing him. Before falling asleep, he says goodbye to Daisy, thanking her for saving his life, and promises to help her family— as well as Bay’s— if he has the privilege of making it out alive. And with that, his body goes limp, and the world around him slowly fades into nothing. 

He’s woken up for his watch shift a few hours later. Henry’s eyes and nose are red. Alex doesn’t say anything, but takes the time to medicate his wounds, re-wrap them, and kiss him before he falls asleep. This has been just as hard on Henry as it has on him. It’s about time he gets some time to himself, to be vulnerable and tired and weak. He certainly deserves that much. 

Alexander spends a good portion of his night staring at the moon; he can’t tell if it’s real or not. According to the phases, he’s been away from home for about a month. Whether that’s true, or just another one of the Gamemaker’s fabrications, he’s yet to figure out. Unable to stop himself, he thinks of winning and going home for the umpteenth time that day. He doesn’t know what his life will be like without constantly hunting and gathering; that’s all he’s ever known— his personality and livelihood are built around it. Pondering it all makes him come to the conclusion that he will never have children, not biological or adopted. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Victor, his children wouldn’t be exempt from this torture. If anything, especially after hearing Henry’s story, they would be much more likely to be reaped. He doesn’t understand why people in the Districts keep having children; all it does is bring more pain. 

He watches Henry sleep, and wonders how the Games will change him. They’ll still be there for each other, that much is certain, but he wonders what will become of the boy beside him. It plagues his mind as he watches every breath Henry makes, unable to look away until the sun rises. 

The next morning, Alex decides to take Henry out to hunt and bathe in the stream nearby. They’ve been laying in their own filth for days, and they need something for when all the rich, fancy Capitol food is gone. He makes Henry turn his back whilst he bathes, and to his own pleasant surprise, Henry keeps his eyes shut and head turned away until Alexander is done. By the time he’s done fussing over Henry, they’re both sopping wet and squeaky clean. They also stop to stock up on water, mixing in the last few drops from the bottle of iodine Alex had received on the first day. They have the half-bottle from Bay’s pack left. Hopefully, they won’t need too much more of it. 

In the beginning of their little hunting trip, Alex tries his best to be patient and understanding. Henry’s practically got a dead leg— he’s going to be a little bit louder than usual. After he scares away the second groosling of the morning, though, Alex can feel irritation nagging at him.

“Wanna split up?” He asks Henry, aiming for an amiable tone of voice. “One of us has to forage— can’t just live off wild game forever.”

“Right, I’ll take the bow,” Henry replies, and for a brief moment, Alex thinks he’s being serious, and is absolutely baffled. Suddenly, Henry lets out a fit of giggles, and a wave of relief washes over him. “I’m joking, love. I’ll try not to wonder off too far.” He continues, hobbling off after a wet kiss pressed to Alexander’s cheek. 

Alex gives himself a good hour to get everything done, ending up with two rabbits, a groosling, and some soft interior pine bark. It’s not the best; he usually only ate pine bark at home if there was nothing else to eat. At the end of the day, it’s all food, so he doesn’t complain. He uses the whistle he’s taught to Henry, ready to start the trek back to the cave. The mockingjays mimic him, carrying his tune across the arena. No response from Henry. He tries again. No response.

“Henry!” He shouts, his heart dropping when he hears a canon go off. “ _Henry!_ ” He shrieks, running in the direction he remembers seeing Henry hobble off in. He’s frantic, on the cusp of breaking down as he sprints around, searching for him. He groans when he rams head first into someone, their heads ramming together.

“Fuck,”

“Bloody _hell—“_

Alex pulls away, seething with rage and rapidly approaching tears. Henry’s alive— which is a miracle— but he completely ignored the signal.

“What the _hell_ have you been doing? I thought you were _dead!_ ” He rasps, pushing Henry away from him, but so hard as to make him fall. He sees the bundle of half-eaten food sat on Henry’s jacket, and feels his face turning red. “I swear to _God—_ “

“I didn’t eat it,” Henry immediately says, and Alex can tell he’s being honest just by the look in his eyes. “Must have been some sort of animal. I did find these, though, and they look pretty good.” He admits, grabbing Alex’s hand, cupping it, and placing a handful of berries in the center of his palm. Alex doesn’t even have to study them to know what they are. Panicking once again, the throws them on the ground and slaps the remainder out of Henry’s hand. 

“ _That’s nightlock, Henry!_ ” He exclaims, so fed up by all the naivety that he wants to scream. “ _If you’d ate those, you’d be dead in a minute! Damn you!”_ He swears, voice breaking as he gathers Henry into his arms, holding him tight as they sway back and forth. 

“I’m sorry,” Henry replies, sounding genuinely shocked. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, darling.”

“It’s okay,” Alex tells him, reminding himself to take deep breaths. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

He hears a loud, mechanical sound, and turns around. Ivy’s stiff, motionless body is being lifted into a hovercraft. From what Alex can see, she hasn’t been stabbed, mauled, or impaled in any way. If anything, she looks calm, a blissful, sleepy expression in her eyes. He looks back to the pile of food; the bite marks in the chunk of cheese are very distinctly human. 

“I wonder what did her in,” Henry comments, sounding rather solemn. 

“You,” Alex replies, the true nature of the situation dawning on him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She was watching you, Henry. She ate our food, and watched you pick the nightlock. She depended on your intelligence— she thought you’d eaten it before. Once she put distance between y’all, she gathered her own and ate it. She’s your kill.”

The immediate expression of grief that finds its way onto Henry’s face makes him sick.


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo woo this one is Action Packed

While they’re cooking their food, the look on Henry’s face only serves to further upset Alex. He must feel absolutely dreadful about unintentionally killing Ivy. Alex finds it strange that she wouldn’t know what nightlock is, given the extensive plant knowledge she exhibited back in training. He doesn’t question it too much; it was a truly unfortunate accident. He gives Henry the most bulky and fatty part of the groosling to eat; an apology for shouting at him and sending him off to forage on his own today. He fusses over Henry like he did for Alex last night, making him drink and eat until he feels content.   
  


As soon as he’s done eating, Henry appears rather skittish. Alex can’t blame him.

“Can we go back to the cave?” Henry asks, polite, despite his wavering voice and trembling body. “Please?”

In all honesty, Alex would like to stay out a bit longer to replace what Ivy took from them. He considers the way he’s treated Henry today once again, and finds himself nodding. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He replies, packing their things up. “Give me just a second, and we can start back.”

He takes a moment to think carefully about his next action, before scooping up a handful of the nightlock he’d thrown on the ground, placing it in a plastic zip-up pouch he’d taken out of the backpack of the boy from Four. 

“What d’you need those for?” Henry asks, concerned. 

“In case we run into Hunter,” He explains, placing there pouch in the side pocket of his pack. “Maybe he likes berries.”

When they get back to the cave, Alex lets Henry sleep first. He kisses him on the forehead, purely for him. The fact that the Capitol is watching them both at all times, even right now, makes pure fury boil just under his skin. Despite this all, he’s glad to have Henry here with him. Both for companionship, and because he knows he won’t have to take Hunter down on his own. 

He finds himself evaluating Hunter whilst Henry sleeps. He finds the two boys are actually quite similar; what Henry lacks in Hunter’s bloodlust, he makes up for with his own particular brand of undying humanity. They’re both strong, and fierce, but Hunter has quite the nasty tendency of losing his temper. This in turn causes him to make bad decisions and unfortunate judgements. 

Alex ultimately comes to the conclusion that Hunter’s been his biggest opponent this whole time. Not Persephone, or Ivy, or Henry— it has _always_ come back to Hunter. This Games has been leading up to one thing, and one thing only: the moment that the two of them will meet, and begin putting an end to it all. 

The next morning, he’s certain that the Capitolites are growing weary. Their fetish for blood and gore has gone ungratified; they have to be gagging for it by now. He expresses this to Henry, who agrees wholeheartedly. 

“The Gamemakers will shove the three of us together at some point,” He tells Alex wincing as his wound is cleaned out; it’s been consistent over the past few days. It’s definitely still infected, but the red marks crawling up his leg aren’t quite as angry as they once were, and he doesn’t reek of decay anymore. 

“Do you think that might be sometime today?” Alex finds himself asking, re-tying the tourniquet as tight as he can, going as far as to double-knot it so that it won’t come undone later in the day. 

Henry’s silence speaks horrible, deafening truths. 

As they leave the cave that day, Alex finds himself saying goodbye to the rocks, the very things that kept him safe for the better part of a week. Live or die, he knows now that today will be his last day in the arena. He’s certain of it; he can feel it in his bones. 

They make their way down the stream, when they both notice that the Gamemakers have dried up their only close source of water. Good thing they were smart enough to bathe and get their water yesterday. As if making a point to them about their own idiocy, Alex fishes the water bottle out of his pack, taking a dramatic sip from it. Henry snorts, a very undignified noise coming from him.

“I’m sure they _adore_ the theatrics,” He comments, trying to hold back his laughter as best as he can.

“Yeah, well, they’re stupid, so—“ Alex replies, chuckling when Henry elbows him in the ribs. “Ow! That _hurt!_ ”

“You’re trying to kill us at this point.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that there are more effective ways of getting us to head towards the lake. Especially when we have, like, three bottles of water on us.”

“I never said you were _wrong_ ,” Henry explains, wrapping an arm around Alex’s waists as they waddle onward together. “I just said that you’re going to get us killed.”

“Who knows?” Alex chuckles. “Guess we’ll just have to see.”

As they make their way around the arena together, Alex takes a moment to consider everything he’s done here. He’s killed someone. He’s been burned. He’s had seizures. He’s sang someone to sleep. He’s laughed, and cried, and gone through all the stages of grief without truly processing them. He’s lived an infinity in a fortnight, and God, it makes him so, so tired to come to such a realization.

They circle the Cornucopia twice, just to be sure Hunter isn’t hiding anywhere. Last thing they need is a fucking sneak attack to take them out. From there, they wind up playing the waiting game. Alex sings Bay’s song to the mockingjays, and they answer, repeating the song from somewhere deep in the woods. 

“You are the most wonderful person I’ve ever met,” Henry murmurs into his ear, and Alex laughs into the crook of his neck; it feels so entirely ridiculous, how Henry can sweep him off his feet when the world feels like it’s about to end. It fills up that nearly bottomless pit inside of him; how miraculous. 

There’s a garbled, blood-curdling shriek from deep inside the woods that steals the breath from Alexander’s lungs.

Hunter emerges from the woods, sprinting towards them at top speed. Alex is faster— he hits him in the center of his chest with an arrow, but it bounces off of whatever protective armor he’s got on. Alex sees glowing, white eyes, and hears snarling just at the end of the forest line, and realizes that Hunter is running from creatures. He sprints past them, and Alex grabs Henry by the wrist, tugging him along as he runs as fast as his body will allow. 

From a distance, Alexander can see that the creatures are muttations, better known as mutts, by the terms of the Games. They are absolutely horrifying; they seem to be wolves, but are perfectly capable of balancing on their hind legs. Hunter is running towards the Cornucopia, and climbing up it. Alex follows suit, but Henry lags behind by a few feet, scrambling to catch up with his now-lame leg. Alex shoots several arrows at the creature that’s closest to Henry, and helps him up the side of the Cornucopia. As soon as they're given a moment to grasp their bearings on the whole situation, they realize that Hunter is struggling to recover from the whole ordeal, gagging over the side. The creatures are a little too close for Alex’s liking, so he continues to shoot at them. From what he can see, their claws are razor-sharp, and due to their powerful legs, they are able to spring several feet up off the ground. 

There’s something eerie about them, something distinctly human about them. Alex realizes what they’re supposed to represent, and nearly faints. They’ve been modeled after the dead tributes— the color of the creatures’ fur matching that of the dead tributes’ hair. The colors around their necks all have numbers from one to twelve. Light brown fur, foam at the mouth, and longer, sharper claws for Persephone. Red fur on one of the smaller mutts for Ivy. A tall, slender, silent creature with copper-colored fur for Daisy. The one that gets to him the most is the one that’s meant to represent Bay; the smallest in the group, a feral look in its eyes, and Bay’s wooden necklace tied around its neck. It’s enough to leave Alex nauseous. 

The muttations continue to leap, and one grabs ahold of Henry’s leg— he’d been too close to the ledge. He screams, and Alex uses all the power he’s got in him to pull Henry back up. He’s successful, but Henry’s leg has been maimed; he’s been bitten, _badly_ , and is bleeding profusely.   
  


Just as Alex is scrambling to fashion another tourniquet, Hunter grabs him by the neck, and slams him down to the ground, strangling him whilst his head hangs over the side of the Cornucopia. He’s gagging and wheezing for air, clawing furiously at Hunter’s hand. Just when he feels like he can’t fight anymore, Hunter has been pulled off of him. He gives himself a moment to breathe, grabs his once-abandoned bow, and pulls himself into a standing position. 

When the spots in his vision go away, he can see that Henry has been put into a headlock by Hunter, who laughs maniacally at every attempt Henry makes to get loose. His face is soaked with blood, and Henry’s lips are very quickly turning blue. Alex feels helpless as he draws an arrow back, arms stiff and rigid as he settles his aim on Hunter’s left eye. He’s panting, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more scared in his entire laugh, but Hunter is laughing, honest-to-God laughing.

“Shoot me,” He tells Alex, reining Henry in as he struggles. “Go ahead, do it. _He’ll_ go down with me, and you’ll win.”

Alex’s eyes flit to Henry’s, and Henry makes a point of looking away from him; he doesn’t want Alex to see the look in his eyes when he dies. That bothers Alex more than he could ever dream of articulating. 

“Go on,” Hunter encourages, chuckling. Alex is baffled when his laughter very quickly turns into tears. “I’m dead, anyways.”

Alex is panting, looking from Hunter, to Henry— who is still fighting for his life— then back to a now-sobbing Hunter.

“I mean, I _always_ was, right?” Hunter whimpers, tears cascading down his face as he laughs. “I just didn’t notice until now.”

Henry gets a lungful of air and groans, to which Hunter quickly tightens his grip, shouting up towards the sky, “This is what _you_ want, huh?!”

“Stop!” Alex croaks, knowing his voice is irreparably damaged, but not caring, re-centering his aim.

“ _Ah_ —“ Hunter says, eyes widening, and Alex can see the way his pupils are blown wide with manic bloodlust. He pulls Henry closer to the edge, tightens his grip, and pats Henry’s greasy blond hair, smearing it with blood. Hunter starts chuckling, shaking his head. “No, nah, nah _nah_ ,” He says, laughing as if he’s making small talk with Leto Lynch in another interview, his grip on Henry’s head iron tight, refusing to let go, even as Henry makes desperate choking sounds. “I can still do this,” He assures Alex, looking from Henry and back to him. He repeats himself, saying the words with feeling this time, “I can still do this. One more kill.”

Henry reaches up, pressing his hand over Hunter’s. It’s not desperate, he’s not clawing at his skin; it almost looks like it should be a comforting gesture.

“It’s the only thing I know how t’ do.” Hunter admits, tears still cascading down his face. “Bring _pride_ to my district. Not that it matters,” He continues, laughing and shaking his head.

Henry’s fingers catch his eyes. On the back of Hunter’s hand, he’s made an ‘ _x_ ’ out of fresh blood. Whether it be his or Hunter’s, Alex isn’t sure. He quickly realizes that’s where Henry is telling him to aim his arrow; the hand is his new target.

“Please—“ Hunter whispers, sounding deathly afraid. 

Alexander shoots, hitting the center of the ‘ _x_ ’ that Henry’s just fashioned. He lets out a loud shout of pain, and lets Henry go. There’s no time to spare, and Henry wheels around and kicks Hunter in the chest with his good leg, sending him toppling off the side of the Cornucopia and into an endless sea of bloodthirsty mutts. They attack Hunter ruthlessly, but his armor holds up longer than anyone thought, effectively protecting him.

It’s a long and cold night. Despite the thicker, bigger tourniquet that Alexander has fashioned, Henry is still losing quite a bit of blood. Hunter’s moans of agony are never-ending, and Alex’s heart twinges with a sick sort of sympathy. He knows that he ought to feel relieved to have him out of the way, but Alex has always hated seeing people in pain, no matter how small the injury. He wants his suffering to come to an end.   
  


When the sun rises, Alex can finally see, and peers over the side of the Cornucopia. Out of pity, he uses one of his last arrows to end Hunter’s life. His canon goes off as soon as Alexander hits him in the throat. The muttations retreat, and Alex immediately gathers Henry up into his arms, helping him down of the roof of the Cornucopia. 

“‘M tired,” Henry whispers, voice verging on something akin to a sob. 

“Shh, I know, I know,” Alex soothes, still shaking from a night filled with terror. “We’ve gotta move, baby. They need to take Hunter home, now.”

“Can we go to the lake?” Henry asks.

“Of course we can.”

The trek to the lake is only a couple hundred yards away, but it feels as if it takes them hours to get there. When they finally arrive, Alex and Henry both sit down, and Alexander pulls Henry into his arms, just holding him, letting the fear of what could have been dissipate from his body. They’re both okay, now. And they’re going home.

Suddenly, they hear the blaring of trumpets, and Mike Holleran’s voice can be heard from above. 

“ _Greetings, remaining tributes_ ,” He calls out, and Alex laughs. The man sounds like he’s trying to sell them something. “ _It would seem that the earlier revision to the Games’ rules has been— suspended,”_ He announces, and the sob that rips itself from Alex’s chest is instinctual.

Oh, no. No, no, God— please, no.

“ _From this moment onward, only one tribute may be crowned as Victor,_ ” He continues. “ _That is all_.”

His voice vanishes, and just as Alexander is snapping his last arrow in half over his knee, Henry chucks his knife into the lake as hard as he can. 

“Kill me,” Henry suddenly says, and Alex looks at him in disbelief. He’s not angry, he’s not crying— he looks tired. So, so, tired. “If either one of us are going to leave, it should be you.”

“ _No_ ,” Alex says, not giving Henry a chance to get another word out of his mouth, his own eyes watering with fresh tears. “I’m leaving with you, or I’m not leaving at all.”

Henry scoffs, not in disbelief, nor in anger. Just a soft little noise to acknowledge their shared pain. “Love, they have to have a Victor—“

“No, they fucking _don’t_ ,” Alex sobs, grabbing the pouch of berries out of his backpack’s side pocket. “Why _should_ they have their Victor?”

He unzips the pouch, and dumps a few into his hand. Henry holds out his hand, and he gives him a handful as well. He can’t believe he’s doing this, but the thought of having to live every single day without Henry in it only brings him pain. They’ve been through so much together— they love each other. They’ve made it this far; there’s no turning back now. 

Henry wipes fresh tears from his face, and kisses his eyelids. “On the count of three?” He proposes, not sounding the least bit hesitant.

Alexander sighs shakily, then nods. “On the count of three.” He takes a shuddering breath, leaning into Henry’s hand as he watches the lake water sparkle against the rays of the sun. “One,”

There’s a short pause. A quick kiss from Henry’s feverish lips. “Two.”

He lets out a shuddering gasp, and lifts the berries to his lips. “Three.”

Just as he places the berries in his mouth, Mike Holleran’s voice can be heard.

“ _Stop!_ ” He shouts, so loud and so quick that Alex nearly swallows the berries. “ _Stop! May I present to the people of Panem— the Victors of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games!_ ”


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter yahoo

Alex and Henry both spit out the berries as soon as the words leave Mike Holleran’s mouth.

“Did you swallow any?” Alex asks, in a panic.

“No,” Henry replies, eyes wide and glistening. “Did you?”

“No,” Alex tells him, ripping the backpack open and tossing a water bottle at him, bending over and scooping water into his mouth fresh from the lake. God forbid he broke the skin of any of the berries with his teeth— that would be a true tragedy. 

Cheers from the people of the Capitol are playing over the loudspeaker, and the sound of trumpets blaring makes Alex absolutely nauseated. The roar of a hovercraft can be heard overhead, and Alex loops an arm around Henry’s waist as a strange sort of cage closes around them and lifts them up into the huge, nearly-deafening machine. 

Once on board, and set free from their confines, Henry is immediately taken away by a hoard of doctors for surgery. Alex feels like he’s watching his mother and June prep for Mister Rathbone’s surgery all over again. 

“Henry!” He calls out, desperate, the sight of Henry being sedated sending him into a frenzy. He calls his name out over and over again, until he is out of sight. As he waits for him to be let out of surgery, and goes into hysterics at the news that Henry’s heart has stopped— twice— he finally understands why the loved ones of the dying always insisted on watching their loved ones go through surgery after surgery, day after miserable day. They are unable to pull themselves away, because they— like Alexander— have no choice. 

They’re taken back to the Training Center, and Alex is sedated. It’s a strange feeling, one that starts in the tips of his fingers and his toes, spreading like warm honey until it reaches his brain, taking him out completely. When he next wakes, it feels as if days have passed. He’s not exactly sure how many, but he’s willing to bet money that it was more than two. He tries to get up, and finds several restraints wrapped around his torso, keeping him effectively strapped into his bed, only allowing him to sit up. 

Just as he’s begun to panic, the Avox girl from the penthouse comes into the room, a tray of food in her hands. She gets his tray table situated before putting his food in front of him. Clear broth, applesauce, and a glass of water. He wants to throw a fit, to demand thar some real food be brought to him, but after taking a moment to consider what his body’s just been through— and the near certainty that he’s just been through surgery— he can definitely understand why they’re hesitant to give him much of anything. 

Strangely enough, he feels calmed by the girl being in here with him. He goes to reach for one of his utensils, and he _does_ get it in his hand, but he’s so shaky that he drops it almost immediately. He swears, and the Avox picks it up off the sterile bedsheets, and helps to feed him from that moment onward.

He tucks his hair behind his ear, and is shocked to find that he can hear it. He whistles, moves his hair again, and snaps his fingers— his hearing is better than it was before he even went into the Games. He doesn’t know whether to applaud the doctors who restored his body to what it used to be, or to be appalled that he’s been altered, been made ‘ _genetically superior’_ in some sick, demented sort of way. 

The girl lifts a spoonful of broth to his mouth, and he swallows it down. It’s then that he realizes just how hungry he’s been this whole time; his stomach is practically crying with the relief the broth and applesauce bring. 

When he finally feels brave enough to do so, he speaks. 

“Is Henry still alive?” He asks. He’s not exactly sure what he’ll do if the answer is no, but he knows it won’t be good.

The Avox girl smiles and nods, and Alex feels the knot in his chest come undone. 

He can’t wait to get home to June. To his mom and his dad and Leo. To Liam. He can’t wait for all of them to meet Henry. Most of all, he can’t wait to get the Victor’s Banquet over with and get on with his life. He’s been trapped in hell for weeks, and freedom is so close that he can taste it, that he can reach out and grab it in one hand. 

Still, the next round of drugs kicks in, and he finds himself being lulled back to sleep. Alex goes through a near never-ending cycle of waking up, confusion, and falling back asleep. It’s not torturous so much as it’s devastatingly annoying. At one point in time, he hears a man’s voice shouting— he believes it to be Rafael. After all this time of being alone, hearing his voice makes Alexander feel protected. He falls asleep again, knowing that he’s in good hands, and that nobody is going to hurt him. 

One day— he presumes a day or two after his original instance of waking up— his restraints have been taken off of him. He looks around the room, and finds none other than Olympia and Eros, sitting at the foot of his bed. 

“Look alive, sunshine,” Eros chides playfully, a buoyant smile on his face. “Your people have been waiting to see you.”

“Take me to them,” He demands, voice cracking. It sounds deeper than it was before. Not by much, but just enough to make him clear his throat and try again. They’ve altered his voice. He’s really not sure how to feel about that. 

Olympia laughs. “We’ve got to dress you first, dearest.”

After being stuffed into a fresh pair of clothes— and learning several new, startling things about himself— he’s taken to see his team; Raf, Nora, and Pez. The people who have had his back from the very beginning. His family away from home. His closest friends. 

He can’t help the way he flings himself into Rafael’s arms, letting out dry sobs and babbling incoherently about how terrified he was, about how he thought he was never going to come home. Raf doesn’t shush him, instead he just plays with Alex’s freshly-cut hair and pats his back, willing to listen for as long as Alex is willing to talk. 

When he’s finally calmed himself down, Alexander greets Nora and Pez in similar fashion, holding them close and telling both of them just how deeply missed they were. Nora’s crying, and Pez’s smile is still sequin-shiny, although it’s far more genuine now than it was on the morning that this whole painful ordeal happened.

“Where’s Henry?” He asks, looking around. He can’t help how antsy he feels without Henry around. It reminds him of when he was a little kid, and he had a favorite blanket that he’d carry with him everywhere. To the Hob, to school, to the bakery— he took that blanket everywhere with him from the ages of two to seven, before it was reduced to nothing but rapidly-fraying rags. He supposes that Henry’s become a sort of replacement for this long-lost comfort object; he can only hope that he won’t make him fall apart.

“The Gamemakers want to save your reunion for your joint interview with Leto Lynch,” Nora explains, wiping her tears away with a frilly purple handkerchief, smiling joyously. 

“Somethin’ about capturing your genuine reaction on live television, or some shit like that,” Raf grumbles, and Alex smiles, patting him on the shoulder. He finally gets to rest, after years and years of sending children to their doom— he has finally been freed of his terrible, cursed duties. Although he realizes said duties have been foisted into himself, Alex couldn’t be happier for Rafael. 

“Come on, now,” Pez finally says, guiding Alexander forward by the hand. “I’ve got to fix you up.”

He squeezes Pez’s hand, tightly, and lets them take him away. 

In addition to his restored hearing and deepened voice, there’s been a great number of changes made to Alexander’s physical form. His body has been completely polished; his skin is smooth, hairless, and completely free of all scarring. Scars that he acquired pre-Games have been removed as well. He’s skinny, but not in the starving sort of way. He’s thin in the way that the Capitol finds pretty, the way that they find desirable.

“My stomach is the size of a walnut,” Alex declares to Pez, studying himself carefully in the full-length mirror he’s been placed in front of.

Pez hums. “I know. I’ve always thought you looked a bit better when you had a bit more meat on your bones, but there’s nothing a few home-cooked meals can’t fix.”

“I’ll say,” He sighs in response. “They won’t feed me any real food— just broth and puréed fruit.”

“You’ll be treated to a plentiful Victor’s Banquet after the interview,” Pez reminds him, smiling. “They’re just agonizing over you having a trim figure to appeal to the absolutely mental masses. It’s sad, how many of them have the gall to obsess over a child’s weight.”

“That really _is_ sad,” Alex agrees, eyes widening as Pez unbuttons his shirt, revealing his completely flat pectorals. In the right lighting, he can make out two incision scars just beneath them. “When the hell did they do _this?_ ” He asks Pez, and their smile redoubles.

“When you slept for about a week,” They reply, giving him a moment to obsess over this major cosmetic change. “They were aware of your affliction, for a lack of better terms, and were just going to leave them and give you a compression garment. After ringing your parents, Rafael fought for you until they caved. They also injected hormones beneath your skin. They’ve put much more work into hormone research over the past decade or so; when I was your age, I had to take a shot once a month for a year. Now, all you need is the one shot, and you’re good to go.”

“Cool,” Alex says, laughing when his voice makes a terrible cracking sound.

Pez laughs too. “Yes, it’s all very, _very_ cool.”

They’ve put him in a pale yellow suit. Alex finds that he’s glowing, as if he’s made out of candlelight. It’s all quite comfortable, and he’s glad that he doesn’t have to wear a tie; Pez has opted to place him in a beige polo layered on top of a white undershirt. He doesn’t want to say anything, but he knows why this outfit was picked; it makes him look how he always should have in the eyes of the Capitol. Young and innocent. He can tell, even though Pez can’t say it outright, that this very outfit has been chosen to appease droves of people.

“How do we feel about a few accessories?” They ask, and Alex smiles.

“I’m not opposed to them,” He responds, and with that, the mockingjay pin finds its way onto his suit jacket, and his ears are pierced at the last minute, plain gold studs filling the holes. 

“How do you like it?” They question.

The person in the mirror looks similar to Alex, but not the same. “It looks good.” He replies.

Pez pats his back. “No, starlet. _You_ look good.”

Just before Alexander goes before the audience for the homecoming banquet, Rafael gives him a hug. 

“The Capitol is _furious_ with you, son.” He says, his tone tight and icy enough to make Alex’s blood curdle.

“Why?”

“Why do you _think?_ ” Raf hisses, swaying from side-to-side, making it look as if Alexander has just become overwhelmed by his emotions and needs to be talked down. “You made them look like a joke. They don’t take to that too kindly, you know.”

Horror penetrates Alex so viscerally that he begins to shake. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I—“

“You let Henry live,” Raf mutters. “ _That’s_ where you went wrong.”

“I wasn’t just gonna let him _die_ , Raf.” Alex spits, trying his best to keep his voice down as he pushes away from him. “I _love_ him, quite a bit, actually. I wasn’t about to leave if he couldn’t, especially after they _promised_ us that we would both get to come home—“

“God, I hope your feelings never change, sweetheart.” Raf says, sounding sympathetic. “Because this shitstorm that you’ve just wrapped us all up in? This is _forever_. If you and Henry don’t look every bit like inseparable teenage lovers, then we’re all at risk of capital punishment.”

Alex freezes. “You don’t mean that.”

Raf laughs. “Sweetheart, when have I ever lied to you? They killed my whole family when _I_ pissed them off, and they won’t hesitate to kill yours, too. Or Henry’s. They might skip over your families and go straight to you two.”

Alex feels like he’s about to panic, and has to remind himself to breathe. “Have you told Henry about this?”

“Henry doesn’t _need_ to be told,” Raf replies, facial expression stoic and sober. “He’s already _there_.”

They talk for a few moments more, just to make sure Alex isn’t about to dive into a panic attack over what he’s just been told. Once they both deduce that he will, in fact, be alright, Raf leads him up the stairs, standing right behind him, hovering backstage. 

As Alex readies himself to take the stage and be welcomed by Henry and a massive crowd of people, he realizes that, although he’s made it out of the arena, and is physically sound, the most dangerous part of the Hunger Games has just begun.

He’s gotten people to love him, and he needs to keep things that way.


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you want this to be standalone or followed up with a catching fire-type sequel lmao

Alexander sees Henry for the first time in what feels like forever as soon as he steps onstage. They stare at one another for a moment; Alex is absolutely thrilled to see him so healthy, with color in his cheeks and a fuller figure. He can’t stop himself; as soon as Henry stands up, he launches himself into his arms. Henry kisses him, gentle and sweet and completely unapologetic. The audience behind them cheers and roars with approval, and it makes his blood boil. He’s so done, having his every emotion and display of intimate affection televised. Nothing has the capability to piss him off more at this point. He would give anything to have things go back to the way that they used to be.

“ _Woah_ there,” Leto Lynch chuckles, a subtle cue for them to wrap things up. They only want romance when it’s convenient for them. “Let’s save a little for the train ride home, yeah? We’ve got a show to do, fellas.”

Regrettably, Alex pulls away, smiling. Henry looks peeved at the mere suggestion that they stop, after not seeing each other for roughly a week, but he doesn’t argue with anyone about it. Together, they sit down on a small sofa, and Leto sits in an armchair right across from him. Alex knows that, had it been any other year, this sofa definitely would not be here. The thought makes his heart rate increase tenfold. They settle into a comfortable position together; Alex has his legs crisscrossed, his head on Henry’s shoulder. Henry’s got a soothing hand on his knee, and presses the occasional kiss to Alexander’s temple or cheek. As he sits beside Henry, he feels a sense of all-consuming comfort, as if someone’s wrapped him in the biggest, warmest blanket known to man. He can’t imagine doing this— watching the highlights of their Games— by himself, and doesn’t see how past Victor’s have been able to. He chalks it up to trauma and pure shock. 

This year’s video recap has been shaped as some sort of love story; Alex finds that it’s perverted and entirely inappropriate. The Games were so much more than their public love story. Children were killed, and exploited, and made completely aware that they’re all nothing but pawns in a massive game of fear and destruction of hope. That doesn’t seem to matter, though. Not to Leto Lynch, not to the Capitol, and not to any other living human being. 

Alexander gets to witness, for the first time, how Henry worked to save him from the very start. How he’d tricked the Careers, how he’d stayed up the whole night when Alex was in the tree, and how he’d been saying Alex’s name in his sleep every single night. By comparison, Alexander feels as if he looks absolutely heartless. That is, until he screams Henry’s name upon hearing Mike Holleran announce that there could be two Victors this year. Until he finds him near the stream and cries for ages purely because he’s missed him and he’s glad to see him alive. Until he nurses him back to help with the limited medical knowledge he has. 

“It really is unfortunate that they couldn’t save your leg, Henry.” Leto says, his usually upbeat voice tainted with sympathy. 

“What?” Alex asks, stunned by this revelation. “What do you _mean_ , they couldn’t save his leg?”

“Well, it all had to do with that lovely little tourniquet you kept on his leg at all times,” Leto explains. Suddenly, the recap video is gone, and in its place is a medical diagram. “Essentially, after the attack of the muttations, you’d tied it so tightly that it actually ended up cutting off the blood circulation to his leg,” Leto explains, using a stylus to label different parts of the leg, prattling on about Henry’s injury. 

Alex can’t help the way he mentally checks out for a moment or so. They had to amputate Henry’s leg, all because he was too squeamish as a child to sit with his mother whilst she conducted medical procedures. He feels sick, sick to the very pit of his stomach. Like he’s committed some sort of heinous crime. He has, but that’s beside the point. 

“Alexander,” Leto asks, sounding concerned. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Alex replies, perhaps a bit too quickly. “You’ll have to forgive me— this is all very intense, and I’m taking it all in at once.”

“Well, I personally think that what you did was a wonderful thing,” Leto says, expressing his opinion loud and clear. “Had you not tied that tourniquet, Henry’s blood poisoning could have spread to other regions of his body; to make a long story short, you saved Henry’s life with that tourniquet, and you should be proud that you had the wit and medical knowledge to do so so early in the progression of his ailment.”

“I agree, you know,” Henry tells Alex, although it’s loud enough for the audience to hear. “You acted like you didn’t know what you were on about the entire time we were in there, but I’d be dead without your help.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” Alex breathes, and Henry kisses his cheek. He wants out of here, and he wants out of here right fucking now. 

There’s little to no footage of Alexander and Bay together; they skip over his death altogether. Alex chalks it up to his flower burial being seen as ‘ _too rebellious_ ’. It shouldn’t be seen that way; a child deserves to be buried in whatever way their loved ones see fit. Alex thinks that what he did for Bay was a good thing. He remembers the bread and the note. The way District Eleven thanked him for looking after their baby. He did the right thing. He _knows_ that he did. 

President Richards emerges with a crown to place amongst the Victors’ heads. This has been a background point of anxiety for Alex for quite some time. There’s only one crown, and there’s no telling who’s head Richards will decide to place it upon. Much to his own shock, and everyone else’s, the crown is split in into two halves, one placed on Henry’s head, then on Alexander’s.   
  


“What a lovely little pin,” Richards murmurs, his bird-like nose cast down as he stares at the same pin that Alex had bought from the Hob, gifted to June, and worn through his fifteen days— they finally told him when he woke up properly— in the arena. 

Alex clears his throat. “Thank you,” He replies, not meaning the words as they leave his mouth. “It’s from my district.”

“How quaint.” Richards replies. Alexander feels his hands instinctively clench into fists, before relaxing them and letting go. 

They finish the night together at the Capitol’s Victory Banquet, where they are treated to an endless buffet of food. Alex finds himself unable to eat as much as he wants with so many people around; the thought of doing so makes him uncomfortable. Henry coaxes him into eating enough to get by, though, and doesn’t stop holding his hand the entire. It’s all tiring, absolutely rotten work, but with Henry by his side, it’s not so bad. 

When they return to their rooms for the night, they agree that it might be best to give each other some space, just for the evening. It seems that they’ve both undergone a few changes that they’re not quite comfortable with one another seeing yet. Henry has been nothing short of supportive when it comes to Alex’s bodily modifications, and Alexander understands how Henry’s leg might be an insecurity for him; he finds himself worried about Henry finding the right lighting and seeing all his scars— about Henry seeing him with his shirt off in general. They deserve a night apart to become reacquainted with themselves. 

Around midnight, Alex finds himself regretting this decision entirely. He’s lonely, longing for the comfort he knows that only Henry can provide. He slides into a pair of slippers, and shuffles across the room to open the door. He turns the knob and pulls, only to find that the doorknob is stuck. He tries a second time, and then a third time, pushing on the door. The knob isn’t stuck; he’s been locked in his bedroom from the outside.   
  


Once again, he is the Capitol’s prisoner.

The next morning, Henry and Alex reunite with Leto Lynch for a final time. They sit together on the couch, as they had the night before, and Leto asks about their budding romance. 

“When did you first realize that you loved Henry?” He asks, and Alex can’t help the way he turns red from his head all the way to his toes.

“Oh geez, I really don’t know,” He stammers, and Henry laughs, kissing his cheek. 

“Come now, _sure_ you do!” Leto replies amiably, and Alex laughs.

“It would have to be the night of the interviews,” He admits, letting Henry work out the stress-induced knots in his neck as he talks. “When he confessed his feelings for me. I’m not sure if any of y’all have figured it out quite yet, but I tend to be pretty oblivious,” He says, making Leto and the audience laugh. “And I was, for a lack of better terms, spittin’ pissed with Henry for saying that on air.”

“And why would that be?” Leto asks, practically on the edge of his seat. 

“I’m just a very private person, and I feel that things like that should not be declared in public,” He explains. “So, after yelling his ear off, I realized just how close we’d become during our week in training. I’d also realized that he was pretty cute,” He says, and that gets everyone laughing. “Neither one of us could sleep, so I invited him to stay with me for the night, and we just stayed up and talked with each other. It wasn’t so much an ‘ _I love you’_ moment, as it was an _‘I will do anything to make sure you get through this’_ moment.”

The crowd makes an ‘ _aww_ ’ noise, everyone in unison. It’s gross, and so humiliating that Alex feels his blush spread to the tips of his hears, but Leto just gives him a warm smile. 

“Well, I just so happen to find that awfully romantic.” He declares.

Alex laughs, trying to keep his uncomfortable energy out of it. “Thank you.”

The conversation stays on this track for quite some time, and it rounds back to recovery and Henry’s prosthetic. Alex catches his first good look at it; a heavy-looking thing made of plain, grey metal. It looks much better than the ones in Twelve. At home, they’re usually rusty and stiff, or made of wood. He might hate the Capitol, but Alex is so glad that Henry’s getting the medical help that he deserves here. 

As expected, Leto asks Alexander about the berries.

“Can you just explain what was going on in your head to the folks at home?” He asks. “I’m sure we’ve all been just dying to find out.”

Alex takes a moment to ponder the question. “I don’t think I was really thinking,” He admits. “I just couldn’t fathom a world without Henry. Didn’t care enough to think about it.” He says, his eyes watering as he pauses. “He’s my favorite person in the world, and I don’t want to live a life without him in it.”

Leto Lynch has to wipe at his eyes before speaking next. “And I’m sure the same applies to your mindset, Henry?”

“Absolutely,” Henry replies. “One hundred percent. I love Alexander with everything I have.”

Alex, Henry, Nora and Raf all board the train to head home. The first thing Alex does, before sitting down or speaking to anyone, is head to the closest bedroom he can to change. Henry follows him, not that he particularly cares. He changes out of his suit, and scrubs the makeup off his face and neck in the joint bathroom, not stopping until he feels like himself again. Henry takes himself apart in a much calmer, respectful way; padding into the bedroom to remove his own suit and change into some more comfortable clothes, and returning to the bathroom to wash his face, fingers scrubbing in slow, gentle circles. He always does everything so elegantly; Alex isn’t sure if he loves or hates it. Afterwards, Henry shuts the door, finds an old music player, and starts playing an absolutely ancient song. He pulls Alex close, swaying with him to the music. The first line of the song is, “ _It’s a little bit funny_ ,” which Alex agrees with. As morbid as it is, this whole situation is just a little bit funny. 

When they reach District Two, it’s quite the shock in culture. Everything is so industrial and sharp-looking; it steals his breath away. People ignore him for the most point, singing praises about Henry and lamenting the fact that he’ll be off to live in District Twelve soon. Alex does his best to shake off his feelings of guilt, playing the role of loving, supporting boyfriend. The only people he really talks to besides Henry is his family. His mother, Catherine, a former Victor and the current mayor of District Two, is an absolute darling. She wraps Alexander up in her arms, squeezing him tight, and thanks him a million times for saving her son’s life. It’s almost enough to make him cry. Henry’s sister, Bea, also makes an appearance. This shocks Alex; he remembers Henry telling him that she has a hard time leaving the house. She kisses his cheek, congratulates him, and tells him to keep an eye on Henry.

Philip is a whole other beast that Alex had been avoiding from the time they arrived, and yet, he finds himself standing right in front of him, eye-to-eye, waiting to be spat at, or struck, or verbally abused. Instead, Philip clears his throat, and sticks out his hand.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Claremont-Diaz.”

Alex is confused for a moment, before he realizes what Philip means; he thinks that this is all one great big act. That he and Henry are just playing pretend. That none of this is truly real.

Smiling, Alex grasps his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Sure thing, buddy.”

Philip’s expression is one of pure disgust. “I expect you to take care of Henry at all times.”

“He’s in good hands,” Alex swears. “Trust me.”

When Henry’s had enough time to say goodbye, and has his family’s home address and telephone number written on a scrap of paper, they board the train once again. He cries for quite some time, and Alex comforts him. He can’t imagine what it’s like, leaving his family behind after the most traumatic instance of his entire life. Doesn’t want to imagine it. He puts the old music player back on, and starts swaying with Henry again. It seems to calm him down quite a bit; Alex is just glad that he’s not crying anymore.

The train stops for fuel, and he walks along the tracks with Henry, getting some sunshine and fresh air. He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen Henry so peaceful, so entirely in his element. He’ll have to take him to the meadow in the woods sometimes. Maybe he’d like to take some paints out there and remake all the wildflowers he sees on a stark white canvas. Maybe he’d like to collect them all to put in a vase on the kitchen table. Alex doesn’t know— he just wants Henry to be happy. That’s all he’s wanted since the first time he met him, really.

That night, they sleep in the same bed. Henry’s still insecure about his leg, so Alex looks away as he takes his prosthetic off and slides under the sheets. He follows suit, wrapping himself around Henry and pressing his head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat— it starts out at a rapid pace, slowly fading into a steady thumping sound. Henry plays with his hair, just to give his idle hands something to do. 

“I love you,” He tells Alex, soft and hesitant, as if he might be scolded for doing so. 

Alex presses a wet, adoring kiss to his neck, snuggling closer and holding him as tight as he can. “I love you too, baby.”

The next morning, as they’re pulling into the District Twelve station, Henry is a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth senselessly. Alex has already tried to soothe him— several times, in fact, as have Nora and Rafael. Nothing seems to be working. The train comes rolling to a stop, and Alex finds himself peaking out the window. He’d say about half the district— roughly four-thousand people— are out there. He’s never felt so overwhelmed and loved at the same time before.

He closes the curtains, turns around, and finds Henry fussing with the big brown cardigan that he’s pulled on and taken off at least a million times today; if he gets too nervous, he gets feverish. He seems to be struggling quite a bit, going between wringing his hands and jamming them in his pockets. 

Alex moves over to him wordlessly, and buttons his cardigan up, pressing a playful kiss to his chin. 

“Hey,” He says, soft and quiet.

“Hello,” Henry replies, strained and hollow.

“Guess what?”

“What, my love?”

“We won,” He says triumphantly. “And now we get to settle down together.”

“We did,” Henry confirms, loosening up a bit at this sentiment. “And we do.”

“I think that you’ll really like it here,” He decides. “It’s quiet, and nobody bothers anyone, but we’re all still so close to each other. It’s like one big family.”

“I’m scared,” Henry admits. The front doors to the train open, and he goes rigid. “Will you hold my hand, please?”

Alex grabs ahold of his hand, and wraps his other arm around Henry’s arm, clinging to him shamelessly. “Of course— you don’t even need to ask.”

Nora and Raf leave the train first, followed by Alex and Henry, and are greeted by a sea of cheering people. Oscar and Ellen are crying, Leo is cheering and whooping at the top of his lungs, and June is doing her own fair share of cheering and waving, miraculously hoisted up on Liam’s shoulders. They all look tired and overjoyed. Alex looks to Henry, and sees him floundering, so he presses a quick peck to his cheek.   
  


The road ahead is paved with hardships and fear of the unknown. 

They’ll travel onward, though. Hand in filthy, damaged hand, and face the future— as horrifying as it is— together. To Alex, that makes the dread surrounding it all so much more bearable.

So, together, they make their way down the steps, and into a sea of hungry, happy people, finally home after three long, hard, agonizing weeks.

It feels great to be home with Henry.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @bi-disaster-fsotus


End file.
